Koli. Low hill commands
nation’s imagined
Pine left to soar demands
silence’s dumb-struck
Elsewhere this land is tamed,
regimented, tight.
Somehow history’s framed
to conquer other’s might.
And maybe this explains
the fated Finnish fear
of strangers’ chatter’s chains
when unbidden they appear
beside them on a bus,
or rigid system’s grip
that will not accept a fuss
that might upset the ship.

Here all that’s far away.
Below the lake is
The air is fresh today.
Now a stubborn people’s will
is romantic and
The sullen front begins
to melt and even should a
descend upon these Finns
they’ll know that they are safe.
It’s the town’s constricted space
that causes them to chafe
about the human race.
The trees, the lake, the sky,
the long days and longer nights,
ice-creak and frozen sigh –
their cherished, hearted prize.

Rupert Moreton

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