What is the matter with the landscape?
Familiar landmarks are not there.
Ploughed fields, like squares upon a chessboard,
Today are scattered everywhere.
The newly-harrowed vast expanses
So evenly are spread about,
As though the valley had been spring-cleaned
Or else the mountains flattened out.
And that same day, in one endeavour,
Outside the furrows every tree
Bursts into leaf, light-green and downy,
And stretches skyward, tall and free.
No speck of dust on the new maples,
And colours nowhere are as clean
As is the light-grey of the ploughland
And as the silver-birch's green.
Ploughing Time
Boris Pasternak
(1)
Poem topics: silver, spring, today, tree, clean, valley, dust, skyward, matter, Valentine's Day, spread, green, light, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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