Hedges

Nicholas Hely Hutchinson 

Hedges Freaked With Snow

No argument, no anger, no remorse,
No dividing of blame.
There was poison in the cup - why should we ask
From whose hand it came?

No grief for our dead love, no howling gales
That through darkness blow,
But the smile of sorrow, a wan winter landscape,
Hedges freaked with snow.

Robert Graves

I don't know what this poem means. Acceptance without question? A blankness, an emptiness that comes from too much having happened, too much to process?  It makes me think a little of T.S. Eliot's line "This is the way the world ends, not with a bang, but a whimper." What I love is how Grave's translates the physical landscape into his inner landscape, and that "hedges freaked with snow" is brilliant.