A high hill in a distant land-
A high white distant star-
A whisper of the restless sand-
And infinitely far,
Lifting a rune of ancient hate
Cold with an old affright,
Aching and evil, desolate
A wolf howls in the night.

Slowly and dim the years have run
Yet clear and sharp I see
The hill, the star, the wolf-and one
Who—–heedless—–watched with me.

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Poetry by Eleonora