Outside it's autumn and the leaves are scattered,
The wind throws heavy drops in the small panes;
And you read letters old and full of stains
Musing whether your life was good and mattered.
You're doing petty things, time quickly flows,
And hate to hear somebody knock and rush;
But even better if outside is slush
For by the fire you can sit and doze.
I do the same, while resting on my chair,
Recalling Dochia legend, I confess;
And all around, the fog has filled the air;
But now I hear the rustling of a dress,
And easy steps on carpet here and there...
Then tiny hands my eyes will gently press.
Translator: Octavian Cocoş
see more poems written by: Mihai Eminescu
