When the dusk settles with quiet whispers
N' into carmine cape the sky itself cloaks
N' the torched dome above the river evokes
- Its waves sparkling silk-like as it scampers -
Standing on the bank watching the waters,
So many thoughts my troubled mind provokes,
As honey-taste of your lips it invokes;
Laying wreath on my memory-altars.
As I brood over long faded feelings,
The wind whispers amongst the dying leaves;
I can almost feel your body's soft touch
- I wished for no such painful awakenings -
I ask: how come my heart still so grieves,
N' how could I have ever loved you so much?
© P. J. Oszmann (August 1952- in Hungarian; translation 2003)
(A youthful piece inspired by the sonnets of Petrarch.)