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■ Pașadine în vers alb (73)
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- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 2010-02-23 | [Acest text ar trebui citit în english] | Înscris în bibliotecă de Midrigan Mihai
The old farmer, nearing death, asked
To be carried outside and set down Where he could see a certain field ''And then I will cry my heart out,'' he said. It troubles me, thinking about that man; What shape was the field of his crying Is Donegal? I remember a small field in Down, a field Within fields, shaped like a triangle. I could have stood there and looked at it All day long. And I remember crossing the frontier between France and Spain at a forbidden point, and seeing A small triangular field in Spain, And stopping. Or walking in Ireland down any rutted by-road To where it hit the highway, there was always At this turning-point an abutment A still centre, a V-shape of grass Untouched by cornering traffic, Where country lands larked at night. I think I know what the shape of the field was That made the old man weep.
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