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■ The oak
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2005-10-20 | [This text should be read in romana] | Submited by Ionescu Bogdan
O, trupul muritor din mii de zile
Un spatiu umple-n propria-ti odaie, Unde visata-ai lauri peste file, Uitand ca soarta poate sa-ncovoaie. Puls cald ca secarica am acum; Greu nu mi-i capul, pentru tine bland, Dar nu-mi vad ochii Fantezia cum, La tel, e moarta, beata... Pot oricand Pe vatra ta sa las peceti de pasi, Fereastra sa-ti deschid, in ochi sa sorb O pajiste ce-adesea o calcasi; Te pot gandi chiar gandul cad mi-i orb... Mai trag o dusca... Aflu iar o taina: Zambeste printre umbre! Si-asta-i faima! Editura Pandora-M,2000 Traducere de Aurel Covaci
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