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Enter Poem or Quote (Required)Required “Eternity rushes on time’s river Uprooting all human things Drowning them all in oblivion Nations, Kingdoms, Kings Should some matter still survive Among the pipes and lyre, Like everything alive, It meets its fate, Landing on eternity’s plate” Gavrila Derzhavin (1743-1816) (modified) Wind, breath of Aeolius flowing down Over the Etruscan hills from Mt. Cronos We are filled with morning’s air of spring As we sit, my dog and I on the wall In front of the kitchen garden Protecting the narcissi bending in your breath. O windy spirit Whose breath streams out from The zenith of ceaseless time Carry us in your arms Over these hills wrapped in your eternal flow The stars are watching so too the starlings. Arise, we start a walk down the grassy fields Crushing the dewy morning’s growth under foot. And all our little world stretches out wide below As our gaze grabs hold of the open view A verdant green going down into an emerald sea Where saints have walked for an eternity The old dry brittle couple who walks the town And hills each day to keep death at bay pass by Asking the dog’s name because their memory was passing too It seemed they wanted to know the name of the poet I was reading The Russian, you dear Osip, you who died in prison But even that prison has passed away by now A stone farmhouse is collapsing crumbling into its destiny of dust On worn roadside noisy and unrepaired we watch the traffic passing And shun the barking of dogs from car’s open windows Back up the slope we tread on a well-worn goat-paths But all the goats and sheep today have long moved on A small house with one room looks down upon the hills Stopping here I plan a place for me, where I shall have some peace Peace passing slowly towards the sea before I too flow into eternity By then the old couple will be long gone The starlings, sheep and goats, the traffic and the narcissi too. Only the sea and sun, the stars and wind will remain to outlast everything passing today For the throat of time will have swallowed them all in an oblivion of fate and memory. All this I know yet in its face I am as indifferent as the Wind.
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