Flutes play all the time, but in vain
In these long and cold pagan days –
In smoke end abruptly the dreams,
Later on, nothing stays...
In wind and in limbo are all
Engulfed by the hard pushy days –
Of them and of what they have lived,
Later on, nothing stays...
Translator: Octavian Cocoş
see more poems written by: George Bacovia
