I can tell by the way the trees beat ,after so many dull days, on my worried window panes,
that a storm is coming.
and I hear the far off fields say things
i can't bear without a friend,
i can't hear without a sister
what we choose to fight is so tiny
and what fights us is so great
if only we would allow ourselves to be dominated
as things do,by some immense storm,
we would become strong too and not need names.
When we win it is with small things
and the triumph itself makes us small
what is extraordinary and eternal
does not want to be bent by us.
T.S. Elliot
No comments:
Post a Comment