From the Cycle ONCE

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Status: Finished  |  Genre: Poetry  |  House: Booksie Classic
From the Cycle ,,Once”

Submitted: November 16, 2012

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Submitted: November 16, 2012

A A A

A A A


 

From the Cycle ,,Once”

 

*

Firefly,

if I believe once

that all your beauty

is a charm of the gloom

reigning around you,

what would I do, then?

 

*

The house that I had once

under a table, was larger,

and warmer, and cosier;

And I could travel,

with that wooden horse,

much faster,

much safer.

 

*

The brilliance of a big light

is often not so dazzling

as then, in the pitch darkness,

when one’s eyes open.

 

*

Among all bad times

the worst is mine.

But I do love it

because I know:

We met this single time.

And also I know

that once I’ll miss it, oh, so dearly!

 

*

It was as easy, for my granny,

to pick wild white roses

as stars among the thorns of night.

However, once

she scratched her hand on Death and, after that,

she left her old bijouterie to me:

A dry bunch of violets put in a book,

and a white collar

knitted by herself.

 

*

Once I beseeched one saint

to help me in the trouble,

and he did.

I thought: O Lord,

how pitiful I am

if he himself had already

perceived all.

 

From the Cycle ,,Once”

 

*

Firefly,

if I believe once

that all your beauty

is a charm of the gloom

reigning around you,

what would I do, then?

 

*

The house that I had once

under a table, was larger,

and warmer, and cosier;

And I could travel,

with that wooden horse,

much faster,

much safer.

 

*

The brilliance of a big light

is often not so dazzling

as then, in the pitch darkness,

when one’s eyes open.

 

*

Among all bad times

the worst is mine.

But I do love it

because I know:

We met this single time.

And also I know

that once I’ll miss it, oh, so dearly!

 

*

It was as easy, for my granny,

to pick wild white roses

as stars among the thorns of night.

However, once

she scratched her hand on Death and, after that,

she left her old bijouterie to me:

A dry bunch of violets put in a book,

and a white collar

knitted by herself.

 

*

Once I beseeched one saint

to help me in the trouble,

and he did.

I thought: O Lord,

how pitiful I am

if he himself had already

perceived all. 


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