The Echo

The Echo by Ellen Thesleff, 1891.

The rose-gold world resounds with end of day gladness.
The sky stretched like a canvas waiting to be filled
with calling birds winging home to their roosts.
The grass’s green glimmers with gilt
while sentinel trees have darkened their cloaks,
looming shoulder to shoulder, black and grey shadows.
And she, unaware that she is glowing gold and pink,
caught in this moment between day and dark—
Brandishing her stick, she calls out, full voiced,
into the bird-haunted dusk. She joins her song
to the twilight chorus. Let the echoes come.

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