IN THE OCTOBER NIGHT

Kaarlo Sarkia(1902-1945)

How brightly shines

the moon, the sky's sickle!

Up to the river's shore

I see a humid field.

There mist-ghosts crawl

the dim surface of the water,

and from the trees blood rains,

which on the black earth stays.

So autumn, autumn has come!

Tree, grass withered.

Only dreambirds mad

swim the night-black water.

But in vain you wail

before the sickle:

It used is to murder

yet to a hundred, a thousand.

So rises bright

that sickle of Fate.

Only missing the final word -

and your slate is done.

[Lokakuun yössä; Kahlittu(Porvoo: WSOY 1929), pages 24-25.]

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