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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-04-22 | [This text should be read in romana] | Submited by iulian cimpoeșu
Mina ta nu-i fara de temei fierbinte,
sau rece, grea ca plumbul, sau usoara ; eu vorba i-o-nteleg, si ea nu minte, cum are obiceiul stapinul, bunaoara. E ca o frunza mare, pala, ce s-a scuturat pe fruntea mea, sa steie racoroasa, si, cind pe umeri citeodata mi se lasa, eu stiu de esti sau nu esti suparat. In parul meu ce albe-s degetele miinii tale, si-asa de visatoare, ca de femeie-mi par, dar ard si dor de brate pina la umar goale, de-mi zic ca au in virfuri si-n podul palmei jar. Stiu orice linie sau vinisoara albastrie a miinii tale, orisicit de nensemnata, dupa cum si dinsa pe de rost ma stie si sa ma uite n-ar mai putea vrodata.
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