An old saw that
cannot hurt any more.
My Marsh of the Bridge, beloved Marsh.
An evening in full spring, before that bloom the Locust-tree.
Deep water, motionless and
dark; mirror for dreams and thoughts, each morning for over 11
I have stayed at least a moment to look at you.
Those trees lying at the bottom of the Marsh, they are like a
I cannot reach them; they live beyond the impassable limit of
the Natural Reserve.
I never will see them close; nobody can.
That is why you see their reflection through the deep dark
water… saved from the saw.