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It was the signal when the Northern wind
dropped in from Baker Valley in the night,
all animals, those hunters of the dark
accepted silence from the breeze above.
And something swayed, unknown and with such grace
from sturdy branch, with just a tiny creak,
they stood in awe at this, the moon had turned its cheek
there was a whisper in the air, a life had gone.
Her hair still mattered now, it filtered timid rays
but lifeless eyes could see the future in the past
there was no killing in that night, there would not be
until they came to take the shame and all away.
Herbert Nehrlich
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