Comrade poets!
We're in a new world
What's past is dead, who writes a poem
In the age of wind and the atom
Creates prophets!
Our verses
Have no colour
No taste
No sound
If they do not carry the lantern
From house to house!
And if the "simple" cannot understand our poems
Better for us to shed them
And resort to silence
If only these words were
A plough in the hands of a peasant
A shirt, a door, a key
If only these words were!
A poet says
If my poems please my friends
And anger my enemies
Then I'm a poet.
And I shall speak!
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