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■ The oak
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2002-04-06 | [This text should be read in romana] |
Se-ntuneca in mine o fereastra
Si canta glasul toamnei in surdina; Ma prind in jocul frunzelor tacute Si toamna e in mine ca-n gradina. Mi-e pasul greu si ochiu-ncercanat Si bratele mi-s ramuri intristate De tipatul atator stoluri duse, De aripi albe atat de-ndepartate... In jur e totul doar amara ceata Si frunze palide, faclii aprinse In calea obositei dimineti Cu pleoapele de bruma ninse. Eu nu mai sunt decat un vaier lung Al timpului ce taie-amagitor Perdele fine, ale verii valuri... Si plang cu toamna si ma sting de dor...
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