Struga

By Fatmir Terziu

Poetic city of the verse
You remained from birth to death
Body and lips wet
Never feeling thirsty.

From far the green crown
Comes and combs in your eye
And you hold it in your lap
Singing it songs with longing. 
 
The breeze descends mornings
From the gorge of Ladorisht down
And then lays among the rays
That the sun nails down.

The aroma of apples is brought by the valley
Winter, summer, autumn and spring
And who never tried your charcoaled trout 
And didn’t remain queued in the restaurants.

Poetic city of poets
City, symbol of cleanliness
White, days and nights
With the heart of verse.   
(Struga  city, Macedonia 2013)

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