A Flower Song
The fir-trees at play;
comes raining down
ceaselessly;
O you, the wood-cutter's
daughter,
steep as the mountains,
as gruff and as gorgeous,
listen,
if you never loved, if I
never loved (your
bitterest words
when we parted), O listen —
the cones, raining down upon you
abundantly, ceaselessly,
without mercy.
— tr. by Anselm Hollo
Wednesday, October 08, 2008
Paavo Haavikko, "A Flower Song"
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http://www.poemhunter.com/ridge-cahill/
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