A red wing rose in the darkness.And suddenly a hare ran across the road.
One of us pointed to it with his hand.That was long ago.Today neither of them is alive,
Not the hare, nor the man who made the gesture.O my love, where are they, where are they going
The flash of a hand, streak of movement, rustle of pebbles.
I ask not out of sorrow, but in wonder.
1911 - 2004 /Kedainiai/LithuaniaCzesław Miłosz was born on June 30, 1911 in the village of Šeteniai (Kėdainiai district, Kaunas County) on the border between two Lithuanian historical regions of Samogitia and Aukštaitija in central Lithuania (then part of Rus…
View profile & all 20 Poems / StoriesBees build around red liver,Ants build around black bone.
We, whose lungs fill with the sweetness of day.Who in May admire trees flowering
Pennsylvania, -The garden of Nature opens.The grass at the threshold is green.
You whom I could not saveListen to me.
Who will honor the city without a nameIf so many are dead and others pan gold
