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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...
ON EARLY TRAINS by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK
THE PROXY by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK
IN EVERYTHING I SEEK TO GRASP by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK
DO NOT TOUCH by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK
DROWSY GARDEN by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK
SUMMER DAY by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK
TO A FRIEND by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK
OUT OF SUPERSTITION by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK
IMPROVISATION by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK
WAVES: 1 by BORIS LEONIDOVICH PASTERNAK