The poet’s soul is born out of tunes,
With songs he weaves rainbow like moonbeams.
Varied tales and songs he softly croons
Out of his heart’s rich, colourful dreams.
His heart and soul sing like crystal bells,
Into rich harmony his song swells.
From the chalice of soft velvet lips
He kisses sweet bewitching nectar.
With every kiss from those lips he sips
Scent to burn on his Muse’s altar.
His heart and soul sing like turtledove
About his passion and his true love.
When his Muse’s lips his forehead kiss
He follows her to the land of dreams,
Overwhelmed with ethereal bliss,
His entire being with passion gleams.
His heart and soul, like freshwater spring,
Outbursts in song ‘bout eternal spring.
When dismayed by human callousness
Into cool solitude he escapes,
He dreams of a land of joyfulness
Planted with green nectar-yielding grapes.
His heart and soul dream of songs that sooth
About freedom and eternal truth.
The poet’s soul is born out of tunes,
With songs he weaves rainbow like moonbeams.
Varied tales and songs he softly croons
Out of his heart’s rich, colourful dreams.
© P.J. Oszmann (1951 in Hungarian. Revision & transliteration 2003.)
outstanding! :)
(((HUGS))) and love,
karla. :)