13 de Fevereiro - Citação do Dia
Job Davies, eighty-five
Winters old, and still alive
After the slow poison
and treachery of the seasons.
Miserable? Kick my arse!
It needs more than the rain's hearse,
Wind-drawn, to pull me off
The great perch of my laughing.
What's living but courage?
Paunch full of hot porridge,
Nerves strenghtened with tea.
Peat-black, dawn found me
Mowing where the grass grew,
Bearded with golden dew.
Rhythm of the long scythe
Kept this tall frame lithe.
What to do? Stay green.
Never mind the machine,
Whose fuel is human souls.
Live large, man, and dream small.
R. S. Thomas
Winters old, and still alive
After the slow poison
and treachery of the seasons.
Miserable? Kick my arse!
It needs more than the rain's hearse,
Wind-drawn, to pull me off
The great perch of my laughing.
What's living but courage?
Paunch full of hot porridge,
Nerves strenghtened with tea.
Peat-black, dawn found me
Mowing where the grass grew,
Bearded with golden dew.
Rhythm of the long scythe
Kept this tall frame lithe.
What to do? Stay green.
Never mind the machine,
Whose fuel is human souls.
Live large, man, and dream small.
R. S. Thomas
Etiquetas: poemas
posted by ana at 9:42 da manhã
2 Comments:
Tenho que ter cuidado, se venho aqui muitas vezes, qualquer dia ainda dou comigo a gostar de poesia...
Mwahahahaha, o meu pérfido plano está a resultar...
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