Under pruned willows, where brown children play
And leaves drift, trumpets resound. A churchyard's shudder.
Flags of scarlet fall through the maple's sorrow,
Horsemen along rye fields, empty mills.
Or at night shepherds sing and deer step
Into the circle of their fire, the grove's ancient sorrow,
Dancers rise from a black wall;
Flags of scarlet, laughter, insanity, trumpets.
© Jim Doss & Werner Schmitt