DUSK AT HIROSHIMA

By Cale Young Rice

Softly the bamboo bends

As the sun sinks down unglowing,

Softer the willow ends

A sigh to the dusk around.

Quickly the brief bat wends

His flittering way, thro flowing

Fields of the autumn air,

That are husht of the city's sound.

Temple and thatch and stream

Are forgetting the light that lingers,

Mountain and mist in dream

Already are lost, afar.

Faintingly comes the beam

Of the moon — then viewless fingers

Tinkle a samisen,

And astir on the East is a star.