Pieds nus sur les limaces: Când sunt prea mică

miercuri, 31 august 2011

Când sunt prea mică

Ochii tăi dezbracă cerul de albastru
şi îl strâng ghem sub călcâiul meu,
ancorează de gleznă pene şi gene
şi fiecare zboară după voia celuilalt
tu urci
eu cobor
tu cobori
eu urc
Mais c'est chouette dans les nuages!

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HAVE you got a brook in your little heart,
Where bashful flowers blow,
And blushing birds go down to drink,
And shadows tremble so?

And nobody, knows, so still it flows,
That any brook is there;
And yet your little draught of life
Is daily drunken there.

Then look out for the little brook in March,
When the rivers overflow,
And the snows come hurrying from the hills,
And the bridges often go.

And later, in August it may be,
When the meadows parching lie,
Beware, lest this little brook of life
Some burning noon go dry!

Emily Dickinson