winterwood se krade

Pa zar ne ličimo na sretnike dok nas ovde čuva predah

Mog voljenog zauvek samo njega i mene

Ili ljubavnike stegnute u hladnoj glačanoj glini

Od kad sunce gvirne sve do dugih prečaga mraka

Iz P. Mekejbove Winterwood

Zašto mi se čini da je nemoguće prevoditi poeziju.

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