Green rings around the eyes, this grass in vibrant motion
arcs tenderly about you, at a distance-
you summon it, then fling it round, broken
Stretched under you, this curling dome of grass
would sound its voices in the gravel-
but you are unaware - and now you pass
through foreign stars, a fool.
Nichita Stãnescu (1933 - 1983) Romania
Translator not stated
Source: Best Poems Encyclopedia
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