Ma plimb deseori prin parcul Carol.

Imi plac aleile pustii la ceasul inserarii si uneori ma opresc langa lacul pe care in vara se jucau vesele ratustele.

Niciodata nu mi s-a parut trista toamna, chiar daca ploua sau bate vantul rece deasupra covorului de frunze.
Nu inteleg de ce sunt acestea greblata de pe suprafetele acoperite inca de iarba. In urechile mele grebla striga cu rusine: hai, mai repede, mergeti la plimbare, nu mai sunteti de folos aici.
E un joc al aparentelor.

Nici grebla si nici oamenii care o folosesc nu stiu insa, ca exista un rai al frunzelor pictate de toamna, cu pasiunea si nostalgia vesnicei iubiri.

Nici grebla si nici oamenii care o folosesc, nu aud cantul vantului si dorul napraznic ce-l va purta frunzelor in iarna pustie, pana la o noua primavara.

*
Give me a minute, well be going again.
Sound as a bell, bright as rain, bright as rain.
And it’s a hard shoulder to cry on, to cry on.

He said darlin do you love me ?
and i said, sure i do.
And i led him to believe me,
as i proved that it was true.

Time has slipped away
The summer sky to autumn yields
A haze of smoke across the fields
Let’s sup and fight another round
And walk the stubble ground.

Cantul vantului si dorul napraznic

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