The rushing time that white,
Encompassing the entire meadow,
It sits with the various flowers, and does not sleep.
In the middle there is a flower,
Shining red, and attracts
With her sweet smell and splendor.
The wind blows, does not move it,
It's not a sad flower nearby,
And the rain did not wash its beauty.
He sits like the wind,
And slowly and slowly
And a sad flower escapes, her splashes of matte dew.
The sun is dying again,
The red flower leans,
The sad flower rises, and then falls.
poetry by Dumitru Daniel