Note (by Wisława Szymborska)

Life is the only way
to get overgrown by leaves,
to gasp for breath on the sand,
to rise on wings;

to be a dog,
or to stroke its warm fur;

to tell pain
from everything that is not

to fit in events,
to be part of a view,
to seek the least among all possible mistakes;

an extraordinary chance
to remember for a moment
what was said
with the lamp put out;

and if only once
to stumble on a stone,
to end up soaked in some rain or another,
to loose your keys in the grass;

and to follow a spark in the wind with your eyes;

and to hold that something important
is everlasting
eluding you.



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