Friday 19 August 2016, by Franck Garot

All the versions of this article: [English] [Español] [français] [română]

The train is traveling at high speed
Driving across the sleeping fields.
My sadness will flow far away;
And my verses will sing my friends

Outside on the snowy bench,
The magpie has left a track
Inside on my naked back,
My love ended her embrace.

So where is going the leaf, carried
Here and beyond, by the evil wind
So where is going my poor mind bewitched
By you by him? I loved you both. Indeed.

The snow is falling down in Bucharest
And down on the coffin of the poet.
My sorrow probes what remains, all the rest
After mourning: his words will celebrate.

Best effort on the rhymes.
Thanks to Mariela for her review.

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