The geese move

Wild Geese

From the collection of poems Kolvaktarens visor

When the old wounds fester,
when your cheek is wet with the tears of loneliness,
when to live is to carry stones
and your song is sorrow like the song of lost cranes,
go and drink a breath of the autumn winds,
see with me against the pale, blue sky!
Come and stand with me at the gates of the pasture,
when the wild geese fly over the village!

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