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Mi-e palma transpirata de emotia timpului.
Mi-e inima sfasiata de plecarea cunoscutului. Mi-e prezenta deranjata de iarna ce vine in noi. Fug pe platoul imens si in mana-mi atarna uitarea. Minutul stoarce ultima picatura din timpul meu liber. Ma ascund in spatele translucid al cerului Si ma topesc in amurg pe frunze inclestate de ram. Mi-e greata de frumusetea din jur, Zadarnicia devenind pentru a nu stiu cata oara muma.
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