That negligible bit of sand which slides <br />Without a sound and settles in the hourglass, <br />And the fleeting impressions on the fleshy-pink, <br />The perishable fleshy-pink, of a cloud... <br /> <br />Then a hand that turns over the hourglass, <br />The going back for flowing back, of sand, <br />The quiet silvering of a cloud <br />In the first few lead-gray seconds of dawn... <br /> <br />The hand in shadow turned the hourglass, <br />And the negligible bit of sand which slides <br />And is silent, is the only thing now heard, <br />And, being heard, doesn't vanish in the dark.<br /><br />Giuseppe Ungaretti<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/variations-on-nothing/
