* * *
Father, I do not read to you
New verse that you should know it,
Because from you I’ve learned the true
Behaviour of a poet.
To act as spokesman for new verse
Is not his proper labour
And he prefers to hear it first
Recited by a neighbour.
SONG
For the singer Mui Gasanova
My father left us all too soon,
One bitter day he died.
My mother by the rising moon
Did rock my cot and softly croon
And, as she sang, she cried.
I thought my love an honest man
And wished to be his bride.
He broke his vow to me and ran.
«You’re well rid of that ruffian!»
My mother said, and cried.
So then I took my tambourine
And on the mountainside
I danced and sang with merry mien.
My anxious mother watched the scene
And, as she watched, she cried.
My mother died not long ago.
A mourning scarf I tied
Around my head and, bowing low,
Kept watch until the dawn’s first glow,
And all the time I cried.
YELLOW LEAVES
Gentle showers drip, drop
From the branches bare.
Yellow leaves flip-flop
Here and everywhere.
Lusty, gusty Autumn
Drives them down the street,
Unbeloved orphans,
Beating a retreat.
People passing mutely
Trample in the mire
Flimsy leaves whose beauty
Once they did admire.
Trees, of course, create
New foliage in Spring.
Still, the law of Nature
Seems a cruel thing.