The Pike’s Song
From his hole so wet and drenching
a pike rose up the tree to sing
when through the greyish net of clouds
first gleam of day was seen
and at the lake the lapping waves
woke up with joyous mean
the pike rose to the spruce’s crone
to take a bite at reddish cone
he may have seen or heard or smelled
or learned by taste of cone
the dew-wet glory, untold yet
of that morning hour
opening his
mouth so bony
sidewise moving
the jawbone phoney
intoned a hymn
so wild-and-heavy
that birds fell silent
immediately
as if overcome by
the waters’ weight
and lonesomeness’
cold embrace.
Translation by Leevi Lehto
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