Surprises Of Climate Poem by Jüri Talvet

Waiting for reward, we decay into age.
It would have been better to pasture sheep,
to shelter under a tree while it rains
and listen to the fulminations of God,
himself a lamb, in his just peace.
Or to cut wood in the forest, until
gradually the working body fits
the rhythm of the falling tree, like an ax.
At least to cut a wedge into loneliness.
No one writes to the colonel.
The charlatan stirs on the stage his eyes
and the dust. He is praised to the heavens,
but at night every last speck
reassumes its spot and its stillness.
So when suddenly a warmer wind
from the future starts blowing,
we are perplexed, having forgotten
how to hoist our shirts as sails.