We walk by the sea-shore <br />holding firmly in our hands <br />the two ends of an antique dialogue <br />—do you love me? <br />—I love you <br /> <br /> <br />with furrowed eyebrows <br />I summarize all wisdom <br />of the two testaments <br />astrologers prophets <br />philosophers of the gardens <br />and cloistered philosophers <br /> <br /> <br />and it sounds about like this: <br />—don’t cry <br />—be brave <br />—look how everybody <br /> <br /> <br />you pout your lips and say <br />—you should be a clergyman <br />and fed up you walk off <br />nobody loves moralists <br /> <br /> <br />what should I say on the shore of <br />a small dead sea <br /> <br /> <br />slowly the water fills <br />the shapes of feet which have vanished<br /><br />Zbigniew Herbert<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/episode-3/
