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Hay Moon's Morn and Eve

By: Eduard Scmidt-Zorner

Mellow are the July nights

when the sunset’s reddish fading

and the early morning lights

dawning blur and blend together. 


When summer with red roses

bleeds to death so rapidly, 

cawing ravens mourn the dead,

the blackbird has not sung

its last song yet.


Warm rays from the sunset

make distant peaks glow red,

the scream of the wild eagle

sounds over the forest silhouette,

while pale-cold falls the mist

into the closing day.


Under lime trees, under elms,

under thatched roof’s hanging wings

overgrown with moss and weeds,

stretching wide and shielding.


I want to put into a song 

what on moonlit village green

I heard the fairies lisping.

What grey stone’s mossy green 

inscription said to me.  


Fog pictures rise in twilight, 

from the dark days ‘past.

I hear faint voices whisp’ring,

sounds of pleasure, lament, anger. 

A last farewell, so distant.


Silent night in the deep forest

around the birches’ black white bark; 

around the alder’s trunks so dark,

flows the moonlight soft and mild.


Eduard Schmidt-Zorner is a translator and writer of poetry, haibun, haiku and short stories.

He writes in four languages: English, French, Spanish and German and holds workshops on Japanese and Chinese style poetry and prose. Member of four writer groups in Ireland and lives in County Kerry, Ireland, for more than 25 years and is a proud Irish citizen, born in Germany.

Published in 85 anthologies, literary journals and broadsheets in USA, UK, Ireland, Japan, Sweden, Italy, Bangladesh, India, France, Mauritius, Nigeria and Canada.

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