A quintet of cinquains

Night falls;
And one by one
The lights still left to us
Are doused. How long will we await
The dawn?

The birds
Have read the signs
In wind and earth and tree.
One day, we will wake up to find
They’re gone.

I walk
The flowered fields
And through the clean-clothed woods.
But where in all this life may I
Find hope?

The fire
Burns low, its light
Too faint to read, the flame
Too weak to warm my back; and soon
Goes out.

The herd
Moves slowly west
Into a great unknown
And who can tell us if they will
Return?

 
 

Today’s prosodic experiment is the cinquain. It’s quite similar to yesterday’s rictameter, in that it’s syllabic; the differences being that it’s five lines, not nine, made up of (respectively) one, two, three, four and one iambic feet. The final cinquain is inspired by the wonderful ‘slow TV’ documentary Reinflytting – minutt for minutt (literally ‘Reindeer migration – minute by minute’) currently showing live on Norwegian channel NRK. I shall try to write some more cheerful cinquains in due course, I promise. Just been one of those weeks. N.

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