PRELUDE

The dead clover reek of summer’s dying hung in the air this morning
The bitter blowing wind sowing wet flakes across the fields
The striated grey sky hugging the earth in a chilly embrace
The tatterdemalion remains of Haf’s campaign are
still struggling to raise their bedraggled banners in the stiff wind
Gone are their days of summer dreaming
Under the benevolent blue skies
The fields hunch their ploughed earth shoulders
And settle to sleep under the thin blanket of autumn’s first snow
They welcome the biting cold that accepts their surrender
And hide the seeds of spring in their dark arms
The fields hoard the cold moisture in their hearts
From the tattered remnants of their army
Will rise the triumphant attack of verdant spring.