Feathers, falling
from the wings of the dark
angel, falling, losing height
over the foggy graveyard
- the fields with stakes and stones

Men had to kill
boys were frightened heroes
hunger and disease did the rest

Life is scrawny, the chests
of the girls are too flat
for the babies in their bellies

Between the frail black feathers
they arrange flowers of past times
- the flowers of future times

With every colour they dream
of the veiled sun
and wish it back