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Classic and Contemporary Poetry | |||
We're few, perhaps three, hellish fellows Who hail from the flaming Donetz, With a fluid gray bark for our cover Made of rain-clouds and soldiers' soviets And verses and endless debates About art or it may be freight rates. We used to be people. We're epochs. Pell-mell we rush caravanwise As the tundra to groans of the tender And tension of pistons and ties. Together we'll rip through your prose, We'll whirl, a tornado of crows, And be off! But you'll not understand it Till late. So the wind in the dawn Hits the thatch on the roof-for a moment- But puts immortality on At trees' stormy sessions, in speech Of boughs the roof's shingles can't reach. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...DEFINITION OF CREATIVENESS by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK ON EARLY TRAINS by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK THE PROXY by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK DROWSY GARDEN by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK DO NOT TOUCH by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK IMPROVISATION by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK OUT OF SUPERSTITION by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK SUMMER DAY by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK TO A FRIEND by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK |
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