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Potser és per això


Across the hands that touch
the sultry beds, beside the rocks
which carve the endless suffering
of sand and sun and sunset,
before heartaches were in ink...we'll leave
these plains and conquer the valleys,
and milk the golden calves of prosperity
then let them free.

I'll have short-sighted views of you,
close enough to enlighten the flaws
and magnify the small writing
on your age. I won't let you down
nor will our might be lost
to forget the seconds inside our minutes.

We'll be the happiest of lovers,
ours will the best-known of kingdoms be,
because we'll have both sides of life
and wisdom, hand by hand at each sigh,
like a needle and a thread meet
to sew inside sunlit, tanned hay barns.

La passió és perillosa, la literària encara més.


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