My Heart At Evening

Toward evening you hear the cry of the bats.

Two black horses bound in the pasture,

The red maple rustles,

The walker along the road sees ahead the small

tavern.

Nuts and young wine taste delicious,

Delicious: to stagger drunk into the darkening woods.

Village bells, painful to hear, echo through the black

fir branches,

Dew forms on the face.