TO MADAME M. ON HER WAY
TO BUY A PLATE

1
There are generations, and cities, and peoples,

Sad and old –

That left us no great masterworks,

But – a few pots!

2
In a museum a lady stands with a parasol

Before such a pot;

While in Sicily (even though Polish! . . .), she doesn’t know

Upon whom she treads! . . .

3
When peoples – you’ve no pity about their fate

In epoch’s chasms –

Vanish – like the butler who serves the plate

To the esteemed Madame.

Day 3, year 1869 (with a plate)