9


The wind in the willows
Sliding in from the north
Invariably painful, cold

Playing among ruins
Abandoned refuges
Little hills above the floods

A slight natural advantage
Insufficient to stop
The wind or people

Abandoned towers
Settlement traces and hearths
Swept over just by the wind

Moving the withies
Cold enough to bring pain
Cut to the bone

Abandoned stones
Broken beams and engines
Looking out

Over a conquered country
No reason to stay
The places were left

For the floods and the wind
And the slow abandoned decay
Twisting structures like memories

Blown about like
A field of withies
Under the wind