CA NECTARUL-LIKE NECTAR

• Stand in asteptare,ca trandafirii si dovlecii,pere frumoase,tamaioase,adunu-n miezul lor,statornicia Anotimpurilor.In Vale,Roata Olarului se-nvarte-ncet.Din pietricelele de la Izvor,macina usor seminte transparente,bune pentru plamadeala.Apoi pune cate-un strop de apa,inmiresmata de aerul proaspat al diminetii.Apa pe piatra si piatra pe apa,asa se face Urciorul.Chiar si muntii cei carunti cu Cerbul,s-au invrednicit de Roata Olarului.Sa se statorniceasca langa matca Izvorului,oricat de instrainati ar fi.Sa asculte Vanturile,sa primeneasca picaturile de roua care se aseaza tacute pe tulpina ferigilor,care ascund,ca o taina, necunoscutele comori ale Padurii..Seceratorii fluiera in munti,de la un capat la altul al Pamantului,in diminetile in care nici macar zborul sagetat al vrabiilor nu se face auzit.Doar saltul lacustelor printre firele de iarba mai amintesc de trecerea lor.Asez Urciorul langa buturuga.Facut de mana Olarului ca sa adaposteasca Harta cu drumurile si placuta argintata cu Legile,va fi ascuns de piatra stancilor,in tropotul cadentat al Cerbului,pana la chemarea Izvorului.Ca o para tamaioasa ascunsa tainic de cupola catedralei in sunetul transparent al clopotelor,asa s-a desavarsit si Urciorul Olarului.Gustul acesta este atat de placut ca nectarul florilor de pe camp,amintind parca trecerea clipelor,atunci cand Timpul isi aseaza haina alaturi de rugul cu trandafiri,ca sa se odihneasca.
• Stand waiting as roses and pumpinks,pears beautiful muscadine,gathered in their core steadfastness Seasons.In Valley.the potter's wheel-spinning slowly.From gravel to the spring,transparent dust grains easily grind good dough.Then put each one drop of water,fresh fragrant air of the morning.Water on stone and stone water,pitcher is so.Even those gray mountains with deer,were worthy of the potter's wheel.To settle near Spring stock no matter how estranged they are.To listen to the winds,to renew the dew drops that sits silent on stem ferns,that will hide as a mystery the unknown treasures of the forest..Reapers whistle in the mountains from one end to another of the Earth,in the mornings even sparrows flight is not heard.Just jump through the blades of grass locusts now remember their passing.Pitcher sit near stump.Potter's hand made to shelter the road map and silver plate laws,will be hidden by stone rocks in rhythm clatter of deer,up to call Spring.As a muscadine pear,hidden in mysterious dome of the cathedral bells sound transparent,so it was perfect,Potter Pitcher.That taste is so nice as the nectar of flowers of the field,reminding passing moments like when Time sits with rose bush to rest.

CA PERLELE DIN ADANCUL OCEANULUI-AS PEARLS FROM THE DEPTH OF OCEAN

• M-am aplecat peste marginea Curcubeului.Ganduri,amintiri,sentimente,invalmasite si inghesuite se rostogolesc din Cer,ca stropi de roua argintii.In zbor rotit alunecand in jos,se repezesc pripite si rusinate ca n-au reusit sa puna in traistuta nici o firimitura din menire.Norii acopera campia,impodobita cu lanuri aurii de grau.In adierea vantului,spice jucause ca niste carabusi,isi spun povestea de iubire.Cu sunet matasos de tamburina se prind in dansul Ielelor frumoaselor,asteptand Seceratorii.La marginea drumului,fire de iarba ca soldatei,cu varfurile pe jumatate arse-n vant ca sabii se vor refugia tacute intr-o noapte stelara, cealalta jumatate verde pastrand-o cu radacina la Izvor.Prind in palme puful intarziat al papadiilor ca si cum as deschide un Oracol.Dincolo de geana Cerului,inca mai sunt prunci care trebuie sa poarte pe umerii lor atatea amintiri cate n-au reusit parintii lor sa duca.Tacuti si cu ochii umezi,ca perlele din adancul oceanelor,isi asteapta parintii,sa le prinda mainile si sa le arate Lumea ca o Imparatie, Anotimpurile ca Tablouri pe un perete imaginar si Harta pe care sunt insemnate Drumurile.Ielele frumoasele au trecut de Poarta Zorilor.Asezandu-se printre buruienile cu samanta inflorita,tes din fire argintii de praf stelar o minunata panza de paianjen.Bucuroase ca au gasit placuta,prind in tesatura stropii argintii de roua de la marginea Curcubeului.Ca niste mori de vant,buruienile acopera placuta pana la topirea pinzelor.Fiara insetata,da tarcoale ca sa citeasca Drumurile.Asezata de Seceratori deasupra Hartei ,placuta va lumina din Intuneric cu fascicule de lumina argintii, imaginea perlata a Anotimpurilor.
• I leaned over the edge of the Rainbow.Thoughts,memories,feelings,clutter and cramped roll from heaven like dew drops of silver.In glinding flight turned down rushed,hasty and ashamed that they have managed to put in bag any crumb of purpose.The clouds cover the plain adorned with with golden wheat fields.In the breeze,ears playfull like blinds,they tell the story of love.Silky sound of tambourine,cling in the dance of Beautiful Elves,waiting for the Reapers.On the road,blades of grass as soldiers,with peaks of half-burned-in wind as swords will silently refuge in a stellar night keeping the other half green with a root in spring.Catch in my hands,fluff delayed of dandelions like I open an oracle.Beyond eyelash Heaven,are still babies have to wear on their shoulders every so memories of their parents did not have to go.Quietly and the moist eyes as pearls from the dephts of the oceans await parents,their little hands to catch them and show them the world as like a kingdom,Seasons like pictures on a imaginary wall and Maps of roads that are significant.Beautiful Elves Down passed Gate.Sitting among flowering weeds with seed,silver threads woven in a beautiful star dust swirls.Gladly to have found the plate catch in texture silver drew drops from edge of the rainbow.Like windmills,weeds cover plate to melt webs.Thirsty Beast roaring to read roads.Located by the Reapers over Maps,the Plate will light the dark beams of light silver pearl pictureSeasons.