In a dream I returned to the river of bees <br />Five orange trees by the bridge and <br />Beside two mills my house <br />Into whose courtyard a blind man followed <br />The goats and stood singing <br />Of what was older <br /> <br />Soon it will be fifteen years <br /> <br />He was old he will have fallen into his eyes <br /> <br />I took my eyes <br />A long way to the calenders <br />Room after room asking how shall I live <br /> <br />One of the ends is made of streets <br />One man processions carry through it <br />Empty bottles their <br />Images of hope <br />It was offered to me by name <br /> <br />Once once and once <br />In the same city I was born <br />Asking what shall I say <br /> <br />He will have fallen into his mouth <br />Men think they are better than grass <br /> <br />I return to his voice rising like a forkful of hay <br /> <br />He was old he is not real nothing is real <br />Nor the noise of death drawing water <br /> <br />We are the echo of the future <br /> <br />On the door it says what to do to survive <br />But we were not born to survive <br />Only to live<br /><br />William Stanley Merwin<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-river-of-bees/
