The place from where the poets were driven away:
There,sometime,my horses will run to size a day
Like that of the words when they flower -"Worte wie blumen".
"Doina" and "dor" -all can be lasting and human.
Inner song dreaming in the long silence blue:
A step inside the trembling no-time-dew.
My lovely,young fire horses will run
On the side of the river,in the sun.
But clouds of mystic grave above...
No one will return or change in lonely dove...
Copyright ©2008 Ovidiu Marius Bocsa
Also,published on Poetry.Com