The Burglar Of Babylon
Автор книги Elizabeth Bishop
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On the fair green hills of Rio.
There grows a fearful stain:
The poor who come to Rio.
And can't go home again.
On the hills a million people,
A million sparrows, nest,
Like a confused migration.
That's had to light and rest,
Building its nests, or houses,
Out of nothing at all, or air.
You'd think a breath would end them,
They perch so lightly there.
But they cling and spread like lichen,
And people come and come.
There's one hill called the Chicken,
And one called Catacomb;
There's the hill of Kerosene,
And the hill of Skeleton,
The hill of Astonishment,
And the hill of Babylon.
