Boris Pasternak

Here you will find the Poem How few are we. Probably three... of poet Boris Pasternak

How few are we. Probably three...

How few are we. Probably three
In all-coallike, burning, infernal
Beneath the grey bark of the tree
Of wisdom, and clouds, and eternal
Debate on verse, transport, the part
The army will play-and on art.

We used to be human. We're eras,
We're trains, in a caravan ripping
Through woods, to the sighing and fears
Of engines, and groans of the sleepers.
We'll rush in, and circle in the throes
Of being, like a whirlwind of crows.

A miss! Much too late you will see it.
Thus galloping wind in the morning
In passing a straw pile will buffet-
The blow will live on as a warning
To riotous tree-tops, and mingle
With their wrangles over the shingles.