Chair in a Field

If it is here, tethered by thorns
to the soil, for a reason,
it is solely to hold him, 

his shepherd’s ghost
home from a field in Belgium,

to let his tired frame rest
and the breeze call through him

A oes heddwch? A oes heddwch? …

expecting no answer.                                             

Mysterious in the unshorn mist
it mourns his absence,
waits patiently for his return.

(Note. Line 8: tr. ‘Is there peace?’)