Our fear
does not wear a night shirt
does not have owl-s eyes
does not lift a casket lid
does not extinguish a candle
does not have a dead man-s face either
our fear
is a scrap of paper
found in a pocket
-warn Wà³jcik
the place on Dluga Street is hot-
our fear
does not rise on the wings of the tempest
does not sit on a church tower
it is down-to-earth
it has the shape
of a bundle made in haste
with warm clothing
provisions
and arms
our fear
does not have the face of a dead man
the dead are gentle to us
we carry them on our shoulders
sleep under the same blanket
close their eyes
adjust their lips
pick a dry spot
and bury them
not too deep
not too shallow
Our Fear
Zbigniew Herbert
(1)
Poem topics: night, sleep, gentle, earth, deep, rise, tower, place, street, candle, church, warm, shape, paper, casket, face, fear, Print This Poem , Rhyme Scheme
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