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Tomas Tranströmer

And the thrush blew its song on the bones of the dead.

We stood under a tree and felt time sinking and sinking.

The churchyard and the schoolyard met and widened into each other

                                                              like two streams in the sea.


The ringing of the church-bells rose to the four winds borne by

                                                           the gentle leverage of gliders.

It left behind a mightier silence on earth

and a tree's calm steps, a tree's calm steps.

Translated by Robin Fulton

From Second Aeon, final issue, 1974

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