Land that shuddered
In the cold
Whirlwinds passing
The hay and stubble bending
Clumped here and there
With the blowing of winds
Here frost has made its homeland
Here at night the bats
Instead of flying
Crawl along the bushes.
Waving yew trees
Scent of mellow pines
Maturing
Maturing slow:
Herald a cemetery
Where animals be
Not a humanity!
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