"I sat in the cold limbs of a tree I wore no clothes and the wind was blowing You stood below in a heavy coat The coat you are wearing
And when you opened it, baring your chest White moths flew out and whatever you said At that moment fell quietly onto the ground The ground at your feet
Snow floated down from the clouds into my ears The moths from your coat flew into the snow And the wind as it moved under my arms Under your chin, whined like a child
I turn and the tree turns with me Things are not only themselves in this light You close your eyes and your coat Falls from your shoulders
The tree withdraws like a hand The wind fit into my breath yet nothing is certain The poem that has stolen these words from my mouth May not be this poem"
Mark Strend (Russian translation)Teksty umieszczone na naszej stronie są własnością wytwórni, wykonawców, osób mających do nich prawa.
