Far and awa fae the light making shadows.
Sight to behold in the afternoon snow.
Gallant destruction in wall tumbled ivy.
Tight as the hack of the hobbling crow.

Parson and gardener, nipped on their fingers.
Wrapping up, fenced, for the winter to come.
Cauld is the cloak on the journey to pasture.
Tilling the field and the prayer book hum.

Frost blaws to thaw as the sun yawns, persistent.
Batter the drum as the hail thumps in time.
Speed through the wind as it gnaws faces, twisted.
Slush churns to wet as the welcome bells chime.

Winter yir song, as it puffs into whisper.
Herald the twilight for new days to speak.
Underfoot crack as your hold starts to weaken.
Buttercup sun tips her hat to the bleak.

From the smoke where all are the same, come back.

Tread the time and war observation deck,
Scan the flat lens of summer off it.
Porcelain caps flinch asudden to flick the ash
And a washing wave, fading in its splash,
Rolls the skull of Oleg the Prophet.

Where ebbs are sipping a mix of bricks,
By the sunken town and ruptured bridge,
Pull the net of the briefly known.
It's the truth laid bare that makes us crease,
It is not a stone we shall squeeze but cheese,
But compress it to strength of stone.

Wind is carrying tire hiss from the dam.
Not by prompt of age we'll replay for them,
For all those who lost before us.
Throbs of catfish under the clouded stream;
Meet the cold light, meet the anxious dream,
Meet the end of the shielding forest.

A yacht in the spyglass is changing course.
Kitchen gas is twinkling at dormant shores,
Kind of early to us the older...
Sunset touches scatter the soft relief
Of the amber shine at a Baltic cliff
And the tan of a pine tree shoulder.