We're living just as the century begins. <br /> <br />A great leaf, that God and we <br />shall cover with our writing <br />turns now, overhead, in strange hands. <br />We feel the sweep of it like a wind. <br /> <br />We see the brightness of a new page <br />where everything yet can happen. <br /> <br />Unmoved by us, the fates take its measure <br />and look at one another, saying nothing. <br /> <br />And we write. <br /> <br /> <br /> <br />(Following Rilke's poem I,8 in his 'Book of Hours')<br /><br />Michael Shepherd<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/0106-to-rilke-from-poemhunters/
