Our Shadows

are very long
when we return at night from haying
but we ourselves are small

The camomile clasps its hands together
as if in prayer
A woman with a sickle creeps up the hill
as she did a thousand years ago

Beyond the courtyard
the heath
beyond the heath forest

Heather heather-colored
whither dost thou fly little bee
that heaven
is so vast and void
once we will return
once we will all return