Jerry E. Smith
Twilight of a dark day in early winter.
The forest is quiet with expectation--
But, whether anticipation of snow
I cannot say.
The vagabond approaches
Cloaked and mysterious
Glimpsed between trees
Riding a tall chestnut horse
A dirk protruding from his boot.
A dog barks at the gate of the inn.
I watch the vagabond enter the inn's court
Feeling the cold rough surfaces of
The axe handle in my hand,
feeling a sense of dread.
Tonight I fear
In the sooty candlelit darkness of the inn
A man will die.
As I pass the gate
The snow begins to fall.
30 May 78
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