Lake Posted March 20, 2010 Share Posted March 20, 2010 The Grave Covered by Snow A squirrel in the pine tree, snow-flattened shrubs prostrating themselves to the ground, a few rusty leaves lay lifeless. The cemetery is very quiet, tombstones, low and high, crude and grand stand still in rows, each bearing its own secret. Here, only the north wind whistles around, only the squirrel, jumping from pine to pine as a few pine needles falling down, and a few crow's caws, breaking the silence . Then he appears, unshaved for as long as he's gone. He is quiet like the grave, and light as the squirrel. Oh, does he see the Christmas-wreath? Does he know whose foot prints before the tomb? I extend my hand to touch a flake of snow, a flake of his skin. . Quote Link to comment Share on other sites More sharing options...
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