Lost in the forest, I broke off a dark twig <br />and lifted its whisper to my thirsty lips: <br />maybe it was the voice of the rain crying, <br />a cracked bell, or a torn heart. <br /> <br />Something from far off it seemed <br />deep and secret to me, hidden by the earth, <br />a shout muffled by huge autumns, <br />by the moist half-open darkness of the leaves. <br /> <br />Wakening from the dreaming forest there, the hazel-sprig <br />sang under my tongue, its drifting fragrance <br />climbed up through my conscious mind <br /> <br />as if suddenly the roots I had left behind <br />cried out to me, the land I had lost with my childhood--- <br />and I stopped, wounded by the wandering scent<br /><br />Pablo Neruda<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/the-white-mans-burden/
