War Poem by Abraham Sutzkever
War
The same ashes will cover all of us:
The tulip — a wax candle flickering in the wind,
The swallow in its flight, sick of too many clouds,
The child who throws his ball into eternity —
And only one will remain, a poet —
A mad Shakespeare, who will sing a song, where might and wit is:
— My spirit Ariel, bring here the new fate,
And spit back the dead cities!
1939
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8/10/2026 11:30:08 AM # rel_20260806T081513Z_580e7f4
