The Grave Now comes the darkest, longest night of all, the first night in the grave. Footfalls faintly heard, as if the ear were to the ground.
Summers bake, autumns brown and burn, winters break and crumble, split the ground.
In distant silent springs cloud shadows fly, earth-cracks creep across the settled mound. Cloud-shadows fly, cracks creep across the mound, till shadows fly, cracks creep on level ground.