In the flashes and black shadows
the days, locked in each other's arms,
so that squirrels and colored birds
go about at ease over
the branches and through the air.
Where will a shoulder split or
a forehead open and victory be?
Both sides grow older.
And you may be sure
not one leaf will lift itself
from the ground
and become fast to a twig again.
- 40 Views
Find a translation for this poem in other languages:
Select another language: