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More poems by Bertolt BrechtBertolt Brecht | Print this page.Print | View and Write CommentsComments | Books by Bertolt BrechtBooks by Bertolt Brecht

Radio Poem

Bertolt Brecht

You little box, held to me escaping
So that your valves should not break
Carried from house to house to ship from sail to train,
So that my enemies might go on talking to me,
Near my bed, to my pain
The last thing at night, the first thing in the morning,
Of their victories and of my cares,
Promise me not to go silent all of a sudden.

Added: 31 Aug 2001 | Last Read: 15 Dec 2018 1:57 AM | Viewed: 7641 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/658/ | Viewed on 15 December 2018.
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