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still life - ted hughes كلمات أغنية

outcrop stone is miserly

with the wind. h__rding its nothings
letting wind run through its fingers
it pretends to be dead of lack
even its grimace is empty
warted with quartz pebbles from the sea’s womb

it thinks it pays no rent
expansive in the sun’s summerly reckoning
under rain, it gleams exultation blackly
as if receiving interest
similarly, it bears the snow well

wakeful and missing little and landmarking
the fly_like dance of the planets
the landscape moving in sleep
it expеcts to be in at the finish
being ignorant of this othеr, this harebell

that trembles, as under threats of death
in the summer turf’s heat_rise
and in which — filling veins
any known name of blue would bruise
out of existence — sleeps, recovering
the maker of the sea

- still life

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