“Martsdag Ved Gadekaer” (Day in March by the Pond)
A Danish farm with ice that will not thaw,
Branches stripped and sharper than a claw,
Wintery seclusion, sheeted white,
An empty barn and long bereft of straw.
Twenty sheep lost to the pall of cold,
Horses dead when by and by they foaled,
The hoary season wreaking out dismay,
In the month of March, in Winter’s hold.
Malthe now too old to work the land,
Pig production once in bold command,
Years in sure abundance gladly lived,
Now thrust into dire straits unplanned.
Paralysed in ice again this farm,
Winter’s touch — a witch’s callous charm,
Vegetables and cereals that fail,
Growth in stunted coldness and alarm.
The winter, like Medusa’s deadly eyes!
Every sign of life in sorry sighs,
Cast in stone by icicles that bind,
A hollow harvest under steely skies.
Malthe and his wife depressed and wan,
Downcast in the absence of the sun,
Pacing through the day so discontent,
Praying for relief but finding none.
Looking down the valley in dismay,
Out the window panes into the day,
Landscapes strewn in pangs of winter bleak,
Frost upon the grass, upon the clay.
Concrete skylines doling curtain sleet,
Snow that stops the barley and the wheat,
Whirling storms exacting a sad price,
Knee high snow drifts hampering the feet.
The falcon and the kite, in heaven bound,
Crying to the air their high pitched sound,
A sullen scene, an infertile malaise,
Barren months on doleful barren ground…
AD Lovkis, 16/08/25
adamdaniel 