<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540839" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>What Our Dead Do</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Jan came this morning<br>—I dreamt of my father<br>he says</div><div style="margin:10px 0">he was riding in an oak coffin<br>I walked next to the hearse<br>and father turned to me:</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you dressed me nicely<br>and the funeral is very beautiful<br>at this time of year so many flowers<br>it must have cost a lot</div><div style="margin:10px 0">don’t worry about it father<br>—I say—let people see<br>we loved you<br>that we spared nothing</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> six men in black livery<br> walk nicely at our sides</div><div style="margin:10px 0">father thought for a while<br>and said—the key to the desk<br>is in the silver inkwell<br>there is still some money<br>in the second drawer on the left</div><div style="margin:10px 0">with this money—I say—<br>we will buy you a gravestone<br>a large one of black marble</div><div style="margin:10px 0">it isn’t necessary—says father—<br>better give it to the poor</div><div style="margin:10px 0"> six men in black livery<br> walk nicely at our sides<br> they carry burning lanterns</div><div style="margin:10px 0">again he seemed to be thinking<br>—take care of the flowers in the garden<br>cover them for the winter<br>I don’t want them to be wasted</div><div style="margin:10px 0">you are the oldest—he says—<br>from a little felt bag behind the painting<br>take out the cuff links with real pearls<br>let them bring you luck<br>my mother gave them to me<br>when I finished high school<br>then he didn’t say anything<br>he must have entered a deeper sleep</div><div style="margin:10px 0">this is how our dead<br>look after us<br>they warn us through dreams<br>bring back lost money<br>hunt for jobs<br>whisper the numbers of lottery tickets<br>or when they can’t do this<br>knock with their fingers on the windows</div><div style="margin:10px 0">and out of gratitude<br>we imagine immortality for them<br>snug as the burrow of a mouse</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Zbigniew+Herbert">Zbigniew Herbert</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=540839" data-title="What Our Dead Do de Zbigniew Herbert" data-description="Jan came this morning —I dreamt of my father he says he was riding in an oak coffin I walked next to the hearse and father turned to me: you dressed me nicely and the funeral is very beautiful at this time of year so many flowers it must have ..."></div> </div> </div>

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