Under the trimmed willows, where brown children
And leaves tumbling, the trumpets blow. A quaking
Banners of scarlet rattle through a sadness of maple
Riders along rye-ﬁelds, empty mills.
Or shepherds sing during the night, and stags step
Into the circle of their ﬁre, the grove’s sorrow
Dancing, they loom up from one black wall;
Banners of scarlet, laughter, insanity, trumpets.
~George Trakl, trans. by Robt. Bly
I love trumpets.
TERF Wars and Trans-terrorism
3 months ago