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Hoarfrost
Again, the snail of time seems frozen:
White grass surrounded my cauliflower;
Now, naïvely visited by mice, -a dozen,
Come from the huge hoarfrost`s tower.
Furs with the variegated undecided color
Stay in the bed of tired yellow leaves,
Telling their jokes with old dark humor
On what poetical surprises fate retrieves.
Beyond the horizon of their question,
An echo in the season of the frozen sea,
Whose trembling hands, with scent of onion,
Squeeze the lemon of the sun in my cup of tea.
My morning tea`s made from leaves of time;
Flying leaves,-I tried and never I was able
To catch while tasting my dry biscuit`s rhyme
Fallen down under the sky`s golden table.
Copyright ©
Ovidiu Bocsa
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