HARVEST
The headlines are harnessed like loads of
hay and the small peat fires still burn on
the fields of Essen and Ruhr. Everywhere
across the continent, people are finding bones
and relics : blood-kin to carnage and war.
Two hundred years ago, as they were
changing the course of the Rhine, all those
Romantic fellows sang Nature's praise
and praised Nature's time. I'll never know
what happened to this life. The shacks and
the cabins, like everything else, are gone.
-
I slept in your Swabian countryside, just
as calmly and sure as a badger or a weasel
lurking in the shrub. No man could find
me and I was afraid of nothing in the world.
Believe me, people, I had come here
from another place : the fires and rockets
and brimstone and ash of a celestial face.
-
Now it is all grown, and I take it all in.
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