Late One Whirling Winter Night Poem by Bengt O Björklund

In tall nights of new fallen dervish snow
green grass grooms all in white
for winter’s icy tell spell grandeur.
Countless sparrows’ heart
and drowsy leafy trees
cringe in dark suspension.

Long after darkness’ cautious control
has flattened its weary belly
I find the seeded syllable astray
and no hands to tell the timeless tale.
Unrushed by peril the shadow glides
over burdened lands of no opportunity;
all crossroads transmute, wither and die.