George Seferis – Collected Poems

II

One more well inside a cave.

At other times it was easy for us to draw up idols and

        ornaments

to please some friends who were still loyal to us.

Now the ropes are broken; only the grooves on the

        well’s lip

remind us of our past happiness

the fingers on the well’s lip, as the poet put it.

The fingers feel the coolness of the stone, a little

that the body’s heat prevails over it

and the cave gambles its soul and loses it

every moment, filled by silence, without a drop of water.

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