THE FUTURE: Poetry, by Guillaume Apollinaire

THE FUTURE

“We raise the straw
We look at the snow
We write letters
expect orders.

We smoke a pipe
thinking about love
The gabions are there
We look at the pink.

The source he has not withered
Neither the straw gold has faded
We look at the bee
And we do not think about Tomorrow.

Let us hands
What are the snow
Are the bee and the rose
And tomorrow. “

(Guillaume Apollinaire)