Дъждът пише стихове по мокрия пясък.
А няма никой да ги прочете.
Понеже в облаците му е много тясно,
той се превръща на море.
Когато хладните му рими се изчерпат,
ще стане беден музикант.
Ще свири джаз. Със сто тромпета.
На мидичките по брега.
Когато музиката му омръзне до полуда,
навярно ще реши да е художник.
И много, много дълго ще рисува
два водопада на прозореца ми.
Не знам защо, но може би от самота,
дъждът не иска да остава у дома си.
И кротко се разхожда над света.
Така погледнато...той е прекрасен.
Seen From another angle...
ОтговорИзтриванеThe rain's writing poems on the wet shore
but there is No one to read all his lines
It's narrow in clouds and maybe because
He turns to a sea - in this place he resigns
When his cool rhymes finish and they're no more
somehow he will turn in a poor musician
Playing jazz , with a hundred trumpets for sure
for all the sea-shells, without taking commission :-)
When he becomes fed up with all of the tunes
He'll decide probably to turn in an artist
drawing for so long - thinking of his own muse
waterfalls on my window ( It's nice I think ..that is ...)
I don't know why - maybe ... because he is lonely
The rain doesn't want to stay in his home
He's walking on Earth very calm and unfolding
if you see it like this - it may look like a dome ...