lingua fennica


The steel-slick sea seems almost set,
but plunging terns its surface break,
their ice-white dive-splash slap is met,
its milky spume-shape echo makes
and lingering light’s persistent hold
deceives – a dream-fed hope that still
the darkening night’s delaying cold
may not give way to Arctic chill.

But terns will leave and sea near freeze
and locals claim back rock reserve –
with sullen smiles the blackness seize,
greet winter’s grip with doleful verve.

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