riviersonderend

Futility

with one comment

Ons het die gedig in matriek gedoen. Ek dink steeds soms daaraan, soos byvoorbeeld vandag.

deadsoldier.jpg

Move him into the sun –
Gently its touch awoke him once,
At home, whispering of fields unsown.
Always it awoke him, even in France,
Until this morning and this snow.
If anything might rouse him now
The kind old sun will know.

Think how it wakes the seeds –
Woke, once, the clays of a cold star.
Are limbs so dear-achieved, are sides
Full-nerved, – still warm, – too hard to stir?
Was it for this the clay grew tall?
– O what made fatuous sunbeams toil
To break earth’s sleep at all?

Wilfred Owen

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Written by George Maru

26 Junie 2007 at 7:00

Posted in poësie

One Response

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  1. Mooi!

    boerinballingskap

    26 Junie 2007 at 14:59


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