Some time ago I picked up a discarded library copy (first edition!) of Alan Garner’s The Moon of Gomrath. I finally got around to reading it and found the following passage. The language was so fantastic I could not resist the urge to make a poem of it. The line breaks are mine.
It was dusk: branches stood against the sky, and twilight
ran in the grass, and gathered black
in the chasms and tunnel eyes of the old
mines which scarred the woodland with their spoil
of sand and rock. There was the sound of wind, though
the trees did not move.
– Alan Garner, The Moon of Gomrath, p. 12 (Henry A. Walnick, Inc., New York, 1967)