Południowy krzyż

They have walked many a lonely mile
to reach the edge of the forest
They have crossed frozen oceans and danced
in plains of swaying gold

They walked in a single file
without stopping once to rest
They swaggered and they strutted and they pranced
and watched the skt above unfold

They have penetrated the still shadows
stretched across the trees
They have broken the fragile threads of light
that hang through the branches from the sky

They entered amidst the timid throes
Of the things that live beneath the canopies
They trod the carpet of black and white
and they lay on the ground and sighed:

"THIS IS THE END OF THE ROAD"




The title is in Polish, but I might have got the declination wrong. It is the name of an oak in Białowieża forest shaped like a 120 ft high cross, that used to be a place of pilgrimage. I'm not entirely sure yet about this poem - you be the judges.