After half past noon she had
a piano lesson
and then she was measuring the town with her step
and by the way she was looking at the shopwindows
excuse me! her reflection in them
in her hair still, like a garland,
that cadence in mall,
little spell that, right than,
along the caffe Kibic, slowly,
he came around, like a tide
Secrets are here so
that someone can sense them
there is a word that counts (has value)
only when it isn't said
the tea is poured to God
it's shining everywhere
One sycamore will stay gold
She is, through the laugh, tightly
squeezing her music notebook
he is not trembling (shivering),
it's just that withered leaves,
blissfully Indian (st. Mihael's) summer
one and secred for them.
And he was carrying aloud
His almost eighteen (years),
And more often they refer to him with respect
Bass is banging in his chest
It's beating on bronze wires,
In his pocket is lucky glass stone
Like that - coin and well (fountain)
Little spell so that everyone disappear
And she popped in like a biter (hooligan,blackleg)
And disperse her hair over his face
Secrets are here so
that someone can sense them
there is a word that counts (has value)
only when it isn't said
the tea is poured to God
it's shining everywhere
One sycamore will stay gold
She is, through the laugh, tightly
squeezing her music notebook
he is not trembling (shivering),
it's just that withered leaves,
blissfully Indian (st. Mihael's) summer
one and secred for them.
Like a mediocre tramp,
A little grayish and oldish
at the corner, I stopped alone,
not so good october,
and thoughts in Russian mood,
and then I realized, by suprise,
that I still love you, like I used to do
the time has only inflamed the fire
An Indian (st. Mihale's) summer in me,
That spiteful Sun before the winter