to an impatient scratching on the window,
the finger branches
of the apricot that bloomed in the night
At first I didn't know him
amid the squandering of so much white and rose.
I thought an angel had swooped down
and broken her wing in the tree.
Could it not be the apricot? I thought.
Then annoyed that I was silent
it slashed my cheek with a blossoming branch.
Then I saw him,
the childhood friend I loved.
Magda Isanos (1916 - 1944) Romania
Translator not stated
Source: All Poetry
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