By reciting poetry, I realized that it was important to spend time around the things that inspired me. In the rush of time, I think we all find ourselves somewhere in the agenda for some creative skills for easy readings beyond professional ones, some stories of loved ones.
A sensitive piece of lyrics about pain...
There are flowers that tilt their flies and die of dreams,
There are also eyes that weep in the night and fall asleep when the sun rises,
Are these flowers gnawed, but their wailing who knows it?
Who has understood how weeping is hiding a violin strip below her eyes?
How much flower dust does the wind soak over the summer days,
And yet the garden is cheerful. On a ragged ram, they were dreaming
Two roses as two friends, and today the petal whirl
That wolf, in the wheel, gives the one on the ram, the owls ...
Like them, remember, we stay with ...
But you can not remember:
Closed eyes do not dream of the previous sheets
There was a red-eyed flower just an occasion for memories,
And renewed life begins with purple roses.
That's how the flowers go wrong, so they turn off their bright eyes
About the life that laughs, who would think, watching the garden,
That under her smile is hiding a never-ending agony!
Who understands how crying is hiding under his eyes a violin?
by Dimitrie Anghel.
It's so gentle and gentle this pain of Dimitrie Anghel ... and essential in general. Because without her we would not know how to enjoy her absence and grow personally and professionally in her presence.