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?’)
