The sun has set, and trees,
like statues, meditate.
The wheat has all been cut.
What sadness in the quiet
waterwheels !
A country dog
hungers for Venus
and barks at her.
she shines above her pre-kiss
field like a great apple.
Mosquitoes - Pegasuses of dew -
wheel in the still air.
Light, that vase Penelope,
weaves a brilliant night.
"Sleep, my daughters, for the wolf
is coming,"
bleat the little sheep.
"Is it autumn yet, no, my friends?"
asks a crumpled flower.
Now shepherds will come with their
nests across the mountains, far away !
Now little girls will play
in the old inn's door,
and the houses will hear love songs
they've long known by heart.
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