Never Before Poem by Bengt O Björklund

Never before did cold grass sway
their icy necks indifferent
to the passing of seasons
grim and mongering tale,
too short to be told more than once
on a long unsteady night.

The dying drums of war,
that bleed in all beckoning days,
spear the bird’s bellowing eye
high above the barren froth
of grass in crystal silence,
calling you no more.

Families and trees all gone,
like fathers long before we
that wait our turn to fill the gap
of breath gifted passers-by
can see the sun of all days
drink the sea to salt.