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(30 June 1911 – 14 August 2004 / Kedainiai)

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At a Certain Age

We wanted to confess our sins but there were no takers.
White clouds refused to accept them, and the wind
Was too busy visiting sea after sea.
We did not succeed in interesting the animals.
Dogs, disappointed, expected an order,
A cat, as always immoral, was falling asleep.
A person seemingly very close
Did not care to hear of things long past.
Conversations with friends over vodka or coffee
Ought not be prolonged beyond the first sign of boredom.
It would be humiliating to pay by the hour
A man with a diploma, just for listening.
Churches. Perhaps churches. But to confess there what?
That we used to see ourselves as handsome and noble
Yet later in our place an ugly toad
Half-opens its thick eyelid
And one sees clearly: "That's me."

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003


Read poems about / on: cat, sea, wind, dog, animal, friend

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Comments about this poem (Artificer by Czeslaw Milosz )

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  • Dennis Mcmahon (6/20/2013 9:59:00 PM)

    And the ugly toad turns into the prince. Humor is the best weapon against growing old. It was wonderful that he had it and could look at himself with recognition .. and surprise!

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  • S. A. S. (8/9/2012 6:02:00 PM)

    The frog prince turns into the toad.

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