There’s blood on the blacktop, and a
Space in the peaceful pasture,
In the warm evening air, in
The fabric of the very landscape;
Accustomed company is gone.
The stars shake a little, in grief;
The roe buck pauses, sniffs
The light off-the sea wind for the
Familiar scent, fails to find it,
Shivers nervously, reminded of
Something a little beyond ken.
The dark cattle, lying down, chew over
Memory of mischievous speed
And impossible stillness in flight that
Channelled enchantress disappearance.
The hare that was there, unafraid,
Wild as myth, all spring
– Dancing, boxing, charming –
Will only be a long ear shadow
On the full moon’s face
This night –
Reminder to us all –
But never again in the meadow.
