A brief silhouette stirred
beside the copper-beech.
Fleeting as an eye-blink.
I was unsure of its reality.
Yet a flicker of light,
as if on steel, flashed briefly.
The rustling leaves told me
the weather was on the turn
And in their trembling clatter
was a sword sliding from its scabbard.
Shadow shapes came and went
beneath the bending boughs.
A stamping hoof made me turn.
Empty grass lay undisturbed,
Yet on the path lay a white rose.
Petals falling.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem