Poem -

Roua

Nu-mi găsesc cuvinte 
Graite, nerostite
Florile palesc
Nestăvilite
Unei brume de i s-ar face
Mila de bietele
Ar putea zari
Nestingherite, stelele
Lipsa ei crunta
Si dorul de lumina
Transforma totul
Intr-o priveliste meschina

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