Now, the morning is high and white,
full of trees that rustle and bend,
and lonely hills brimming with light,
which, gasping, I quickly descend.
It’s summer up to the sky; and
the green of this wide plain that spreads
teaches us that the dead have a land
and the seas profound, silent beds.
Translator: Octavian Cocoş
see more poems written by: Magda Isanos
