In a leaden dawn
the horseman stands silent, and
the long mane of his horse is disheveled in the wind.
Oh God, God,
horsemen should not stand still
when things are imminent.
By the burnt hedge
the girl stands silent, and
her thin skirt moves in the wind.
Oh God, God,
girls should not remain silent
when the men, hopeless and weary, grow old.
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