In the pale grass #7992
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In the pale grass. A poem by Jón Jóhannesson from Skáleyjar.
We sat two and one by the fire
bright
— again I'm having fun
my —
and the violin sang in your shy language,
and the violin sang in two childish hearts.
And everything was poetry and red twilight
wrapped,
and the darkness dug deep into me
edge,
and while sorrow slept on yours
arm
we sailed our white boat on
the sea.
Listen, sister, dreamy little girl
you forehead,
A sad, slow-moving wave greets the swimmer
— burdened by the sorrow of a thousand lost ones
years —
the folk song fragments that we taught
her.
We sat two and one by the fire
bright
— again I'm having fun
my —
and the violin sang in your shy language,
and the violin sang in two childish hearts.
And everything was poetry and red twilight
wrapped,
and the darkness dug deep into me
edge,
and while sorrow slept on yours
arm
we sailed our white boat on
the sea.
Listen, sister, dreamy little girl
you forehead,
A sad, slow-moving wave greets the swimmer
— burdened by the sorrow of a thousand lost ones
years —
the folk song fragments that we taught
her.