From The Keeper of the Sheep by Fernando Pessoa / Alberto Caeiro

From The Keeper of the Sheep

 

XVI

 

If only my life were an oxcart

That creaks down the road in the morning,

Very early, and returns by the same road

To where it came from in the evening . . .

 

I wouldn’t have to have hopes, just wheels . . .

My old age wouldn’t have wrinkles or white hair . . .

When I was of no more use, my wheels would be removed

And I’d end up at the bottom of a ditch, broken and

overturned.

 

Or I’d be made into something different

And I wouldn’t know what I’d been made into . . .

But I’m not an oxcart, I’m different.

But exactly how I’m different no one would ever tell me.

 

(Translated by Richard Zenith)