He kept walking
between the poplars and the tarmac
went by farms fields
power stations
cars passed him
black inside
one rainy night he put his foot on something
crunchy and soft:
a run-over hedgehog
thrown by the violence of the impact
onto the road's shoulder
it had begun to snow very early that year
but that didn't discourage him
slowed him down a bit at most
he would sing a psalm or canticle
and had the impression
that a fur shawl
had been wrapped around his shoulders
the innkeepers
unused to seeing clients arrive
at that time of year
made him welcome
he would have a meat pie and a piece of fruit for dinner
sleep in plushy beds
all for a few coins
then would depart again at dawn
across the sleeping white-roofed villages
having forgotten for quite a while
the music that had set him
on this road

Translation: 2013, Marilyn Hacker