At night I walk out upon
the heath;
such blank hills and shrubs
for miles.
The whistle of an old wind
sighs forth.
The darkness weighs down;
a symphony of shadow.
There is something silent here,
watching.
A predator stalks
my path
and I feel its draining thirst
untold.
The darkness weighs down;
a symphony of shadow.
A hunt howls in the night, on
the heath.