A poem attributed to Fisher.

"My friend, this is not the place
The cut flowers lie scattered on the path
And the light of the moon glistens
In what the stems bleed

In the day just for ever lost
I watched a black wasp darting into the face
Of a web, and the spider she dropped
Only to be caught in mid-air

Footfalls leave no trace
In the wake of a hungry creature's wrath
You can only lie in hope, dreaming
She lightly touched ground

And danced away like a breath
Hiding beneath leaves nodding in place
While the hunter circles and listens
But pray nothing is found

My friend, this is not your face
So pale and still never again to laugh
When the moon's light fell and then stopped
Cold as silver in the glade

Look back on the day, it's for ever lost
Stare into the night, where things confound
The web stretches empty, wind keening
In threads of absent songs
―(Song of) Old Friend

Notes and referencesEdit

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