My generation

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.

 Cyprian Norwid, Poems