Nor bear an armring from the distant courts;
I cannot sing the cruelty and pain
Nor drunken warriors collapsed like noughts.
The muddy tracks are now all autobahns,
The woods rush past and do not crouch in threat;The king lists are ignored like someone’s yarns,
The future of the tribe a misplaced bet.
But in my mind this fraying autumn night
I hear the steady fall and lift of oars;I face the east and journey as I write –
Wide traveller, en route to Danube’s shores.
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© February 1980