Nothing could be done,
they stopped the truck and stood in blowing snow,
the girls crying and talking
to the damaged, frightened animal,
but nothing could be done.
Their tracks were alone in the drifts,
the wind moaned in the woods;
under it all the earth was soft and moist,
yellow clay stuck to the shovel
and froze on the blade.
Beneath the twisted apple tree
the mound is surprisingly high.
Ashes and bones,
ashes and bones,
thus do i civilize the field.
