She stood at the tent,
this young maiden
dressed in flowers
freshly picked,
waiting,
waiting,
for his return,

War is a sharp din
how can I hear it?
How can I pick him out
in the blood letting?
The sound of stallion hoofs
that black stallion
back to level ground,
where war is gone,
where tents are fixed
my fire is here,
burning,
oh yes burning all night!

dlb
Miranova: Novel in 2009

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