Thursday, December 30, 2010

Colinda de Anul Nou

[Poi]miine anu' se-noieste
Plugusoru se porneste
Si incepem a ura,
Pe la case-a colinda...

In ajun de-un An Noutz,
V-as colinda un picutz...
Si cum n-o pot face "pe viu"
Prin e-mail, iaca, va scriu:

Va doresc din inima
Dragoste cu patima,
Sanatate (c-aia-i buna!)
 - Cit de la pamint la luna! - 
Spor la munca si multi bani,
(Euro, lei sau dolari)
Pace-n suflet, bucurii,
Impliniri si "nebunii" 
Pacate, cit mai putzine
Pentru anu' care vine.

'Geaba insa urez eu.
S-aveti...ce-o vrea Dumnezeu! 
Sa primiti cit ati sadit,
Si sa dati cit ati primit!

Plugushor cu shaptii boi,
Ia mai minati mai flacai,
Sh trajetz tarii di buhai
Sa rasune-n muntz sh-n vai!

La Anu' si la multzi ani!!!

            *   *   *

Pe voi iaca, v-am urat...
(si mai am de colindat)
Da'-nainte de-a pleca...
O rugaminte-as avea:

Dati si voi o tzuica fiarta?
O sarma? O ciocolata?
Un cirnat, o muratura?
(Na, ca-mi ploua apa-n gura!)
Un vin fiert (cu scortisoare)
Ca afara geru-i mare!
Dati o turta, un colac?
Ce va e voua pe plac...

Dati un tort, o prajitura?
Sa-ndulcim spurcata gura?
O guritza? Doi pupici?
(Bine-nteles, de gagici ;-)
...Ba chiar si-unii din baietzi...
Ca tare dragi imi suntetzi!

Monday, December 20, 2010

2010? - Did... have... will... you?

Keeping with tradition from last year, here's a personal composition that I hope will strike a chord with most of you. Enjoy it, and enjoy the holidays!!

Merry Christmas and a Happy New Year!!!

Was this year good (for you)?
Was this year bad?
Or was it indifferent?
How much “luck” you’ve had?

Was it “luck” you worked for?
Was it easy-snap?
Was it blood and tears?
Or fell into your lap?

Either way, don’t matter…
It all is in the past.
And although contentious,
Nothing seems to last!

Nothing worth a dime,
I’d say, anyway
So hold your head up high,
Keep enemies at bay,

Let your spirit soar,
“Dirt” wash off your back,
And don’t let your heart
Drape itself in black.

And on this year-end, my friend,
Answer yes or no
To my little questionnaire…
Let’s give it a go:

Did you touch a heart
In more ways than one?
Did you show them love
Before they were gone?

Did you make new friends?
Reached out to old ones?
Did you kiss your daughters?
Did you hug your sons?

Did you let your parents
Know how much you love them?
And for their “mistakes”
Absolve them and thank them?

(For you are today,
Believe it or not
Something they have planned for
Plus something they’ve not.)

Have you prayed to God?
Or your angel friends?
Have you asked forgiveness?
Have you made amends?

Did you help someone
When in dire need?
Did you lend a shoulder?
Or… let their hearts bleed?

Did you keep a promise?
Did you tell a lie?
Did you let bad rumors?
Happily fly by?

Did you drop your guard
For everyone to view?
The beautiful person
That lives inside of you?

Did you tell ‘em “YES”?
Did you tell’ em “NO”?
Did you fight them back
Before you did so?

Did you get upset
Over little things?
Did you rise above them,
Flapping up your wings?

Have you witnessed joy,
For more than a second?
Have you “opened up”
When the hour beckoned?

Have you taught a child?
Have you learned from them?
For in every person,
Hidden lays a gem!

Agony and troubles
Did you overcome?
A slightly better person
You think you’ve become?

Or was it more than slight?
Much better then, instead?
Have you praised the living?
Paid homage to the dead?

If among these questions,
Some are unanswered still,
Hoping you’ll make time…
Hoping that you will…

Will you?

     *     *     *     *     *     *     *

Monday, December 13, 2010

Sopa de poblanos

This is the first entry for my section of the blog that deals with another one of my recently-developed passions: gourmet food.  When I titled this blog “Dis, Dat and D Odder” I really planned to “go” all over the place.  So far, it’s mostly about football (soccer for North Americans) travels and [some] poetry.  Next: culinary topics and eventually pointed rants dealing with ongoing social and political issues (but that may wait a little while so I can “sharpen my teeth" first)… and yes, in case you’re wondering, other things may pop-in here from time to time ;-)

But back to culinary experiments: I love watching Food Network (and the new Food channel) and I often try their recipes and techniques.  I love Alton Brown and the Iron Chef battles!  I enjoy Andrew Zimmern! Yes, you can say that I’m an “out of the closet” foodie and although my schedule does not allow it, I try to dabble in the kitchen as much as I can.  I always said that if I didn’t have to earn money for a living I’d be a [sports] writer or I’d open a restaurant.  Bohemian dreams, I know… but this little blog allows me that indulgence with very little risk…

So what is this then?  Well, not a recipes blog, for sure… You can get that in many places on the web –,, are a couple of my favorites – but this is more about the experience of cooking, about mistakes I made and techniques I tried; it’s about the process.  For there is a joy in cooking, especially when a nicely executed recipe results in raised eyebrows, head nods, licked fingers and the occasional plate-cleaning ritual involving pieces of bread!  In essence, cooking is about creating “something” that audiences should enjoy on a visual, olfactory and gustatory level, and if done right, it should come close to sexual stimulation… Deep, huh?  Or scary!!!

Many a times, we eat something in a restaurant that’s so delicious that we want to try it at home, where we typically have more control over fat and salt content (no surprise, most restaurants use lots of butter and salt in their cooking in order to enhance the taste or preserve the food).  So, in response to a “Cream of Poblano” soup I enjoyed a few times at Zocalo (recipe at the end where you’ll see what I’m talking about if you read the per-serving details) here’s my twist on it: Roasted Poblano Soup:
  1. Wash a few poblano peppers, pat dry and “shine” with a bit of oil.  I used 9 for this recipe [serves 10+], but it came out really spicy, so you might want to tone it down to only 4 or 5.  I was hoping that roasting them would cut some of the heat, but did not seem to help much L.  Crank up the oven to about 425F (need a lot of heat, fast)…or you can use a grill or the broiler.  Bottom line, let them singe thoroughly and flip ‘em often.
  2. Once the poblanos are in the oven, start with a chopped onion or two in a soup pot with a bit of oil under medium heat; add a few cloves of chopped garlic as well (garlic burns faster, so dropping it in later helps).  Once translucent, add a can of low-salt chicken stock (or water if you wish, in which case you might want to enhance the taste with a sprinkling of Vegeta).
  3. Peel and chop 3-4 medium potatoes, cut in small cubes and drop in the pot; then add a couple of cups of water and boil until the potatoes are soft.  Potatoes will give you the starch for the soup and eliminate (or reduce) the need for cream.  Notice I used very little oil for the onions and garlic.  And no butter!
  4. When the peppers are done (I wish you can “smell” the picture above) peel off the skin, discard the stems and wash off the seeds.  Chop and drop into the soup pot. [in retrospect, you could drop them in with the onion and garlic before the chicken stock, in hopes that some of the spiciness will be “diluted” by cooking them further].  You might want to use some latex gloves when peeling/cleaning the peppers; they are pretty hot/spicy!
  5. Use an immersion blender if you have one, to purée the onions, garlic, peppers and potatoes (It’s always good to use less water in cooking and add more if the blend is too thick).  A regular blender also works, but it’s messier and requires a few “trips”.  The immersion blender is a nifty little gadget for any kitchen; and it works wonders when trying to get kids to eat their veggies!
  6. Now give it a taste.  Unfortunately, mine was still too spicy… and although I was trying to avoid milk or cream, I had to use about ½ cup in order to reduce the spice.  Next time I’ll probably use more potatoes instead.
  7. So back on the stove then, a bit of milk and voilà: soup’s ready.  For garnish, I used sour cream thinned with milk, roasted pumpkin seeds, roasted corn, and some cilantro and paprika for color.  Shredded cheese would work also…or some crunchy tortillas.  For another dimension, try topping with smoked bacon (baked) or baby camarones.  The possibilities are endless…
If spicy is not your thing, use red peppers instead (and maybe roast a tomato or two also).  It’s to die for (with some of the same toppings and a splash of cayenne)!  Pimentos or Peperoncinis are also a middle-of-the-roadn option (not as spicy as poblanos)

If soup is not your thing, then you can fill the roasted peppers with whatever floats your boat: cheese, chorizo, bread crumbs, rice, or a combination there of … you name it …  The point is, try to step outside the lines of a recipe as much as you can (or are comfortable with).  You’ll make mistakes, you’ll burn things and end up throwing things away, but in the end [at some point] you’ll have something that’s “yours” and the “audience” loves; that is a great feeling of accomplishment.

Oh, and one last comment: I had a cold bowl of this soup the next day and it wasn’t as spicy.  Yes, heating it up seems to accentuate the effects of the capsaicin.  If curious, you can read more about peppers and their Scoville rating here:

Here’s a few similar recipes for the soup (I usually combine them, “stealing” a little bit from each one):

…and the one from Zocalo (it contains 50% of the recommended fat and salt intake, and 30% cholesterol):

Crema de Chile Poblano
Makes 4 servings / Preparation time: 10 minutes / Cooking time: 10 minutes
2 poblano chiles, seeds and vein removed, and coarsely chopped
1/4 cup chopped white onion
1 small garlic clove
1 tablespoon plus 1 teaspoon (or 4 cubes) chicken bouillon
3 (12-ounce) cans evaporated milk
3 tablespoons butter
1/3 cup all-purpose flour

In a blender, combine chiles, onion, garlic, chicken bouillon and 2 cans milk. Process until pureed. Pass the mix through a strainer, discarding solids.
Meanwhile, in a heavy stockpot over low heat, melt the butter. Whisk in flour and stir for 4 to 5 minutes. Don’t allow it to brown. Pour the strained liquid and remaining can of milk into the pot and whisk to combine, making sure to get the bottom and sides of the pot. Increase heat and bring to a boil, stirring constantly, scraping the bottom of the pan to prevent scorching. Reduce heat to a simmer and cook for 5 minutes, stirring constantly.
Per serving: 485 calories (percent of calories from fat, 53), 20 grams protein, 38 grams carbohydrates, 1 gram fiber, 29 grams fat, 99 milligrams cholesterol, 1,104 milligrams sodium.

Friday, November 5, 2010

Adrian Paunescu - Ruga pentru parinti (Prayer for Parents)

In cinstea unui mare poet si scriitor care a adus fericire tinerilor din Romania in timpuri comuniste... Va continua sa traiasca in inimile noastre alaturi de marii nostri scriitori...

Homage to a great writer and poet who brought a ray of hope to the youth in communist Romania.  Will surely live among the greats into eternity...

Saru'-mina Adriane!  Eternal gratitude!

Enigmatici şi cuminţi,
Terminându-şi rostul lor,
Lângă noi se sting şi mor,
Dragii noştri, dragi părinţi.

Chiamă-i Doamne înapoi
Că şi-aşa au dus-o prost,
Şi fă-i tineri cum au fost,
Fă-i mai tineri decât noi.

Pentru cei ce ne-au făcut
Dă un ordin, dă ceva
Să-i mai poţi întârzia
Să o ia de la început.

Au plătit cu viaţa lor
Ale fiilor erori,
Doamne fă-i nemuritori
Pe părinţii care mor.

Ia priviţi-i cum se duc,
Ia priviţi-i cum se sting,
Lumânări în cuib de cuc,
Parcă tac, şi parcă ning.

Plini de boli şi suferind
Ne întoarcem în pământ,
Cât mai suntem, cât mai sunt,
Mângâiaţi-i pe părinţi.

E pământul tot mai greu,
Despărţirea-i tot mai grea,
Sărut-mâna, tatăl meu,
Sărut-mâna, mama mea.

Dar de ce priviţi asa,
Fata mea şi fiul meu,
Eu sunt cel ce va urma
Dragii mei mă duc şi eu.

Sărut-mâna, tatăl meu,
Sărut-mâna, mama mea.
Rămas bun, băiatul meu,
Rămas bun, fetiţa mea,

Tatăl meu, băiatul meu,
Mama mea, fetiţa mea.

Mysterious and  tranquil,
Finishing their earthly role,
Fading bodies leave the soul,
Our dear parents, falling ill.

Dear Lord, please bring them back
For their life was harsh and crass,
Make ‘em young, younger than us,
And this time, cut them some slack.

For the ones who gave us life
Do something, pass a decree
Slow them down, or even, maybe
Start anew, with much less strife.

They have paid with their own lives
For their children’s many ills,
God, don’t make us read their wills
Let them be husbands and wives.

Take a look at how they go,
Take a look at how they fade,
Candles in a gowk’s hotbed,
Like they’re silent, like they’re snow

Full of suffering and sickness
We all end up as dirt,
Yet, while we are still on earth,
Shower your folks with kindness.

Separation’s getting hard
Our lives, heavy with qualm,
I am grateful, dear dad,
I am grateful, dear mom.

Why you look at me like this,
Dear daughter, dear son,
One day I’ll be the one you’ll miss
One day it will be my turn.

I am grateful, dear dad,
I am grateful, dear mom.
So long, my son,
So long, my little girl,

My dad, my son,
My mom, my little girl.

Thursday, November 4, 2010

Toparceanu - Balada unui greier mic (The Ballad of a Small Cricket)

Dear childhood memories to most of us... and so appropriate with winter knocking on the door...

Peste dealuri zgribulite,
Peste ţarini zdrenţuite,
A venit aşa, deodată,
Toamna cea întunecată.

Lungă, slabă şi zăludă,
Botezând natura udă
C-un mănunchi de ciumafai, -
Când se scutură de ciudă,
Împrejurul ei departe
Risipeşte-n evantai
Ploi mărunte,
Frunze moarte,
Stropi de tină,

Şi cum vine de la munte,
Şi lăcrimând,
Toţi ciulinii de pe vale
Se pitesc prin văgăuni,
Iar măceşii de pe câmpuri
O întâmpină în cale
Cu grăbite plecăciuni…

Doar pe coastă, la urcuş,
Din căsuţa lui de humă
A ieşit un greieruş,
Negru, mic, muiat în tuş
Şi pe-aripi pudrat cu brumă:

- Cri-cri-cri,
Toamnă gri,
Nu credeam c-o să mai vii
Înainte de Crăciun,
Că puteam şi eu s-adun
O grăunţă cât de mică,
Ca să nu cer împrumut
La vecina mea furnică,
Fi’ndcă nu-mi dă niciodată,
Şi-apoi umple lumea toată
Că m-am dus şi i-am cerut…

Dar de-acuş,
Zise el cu glas sfârşit
Ridicând un picioruş,
Dar de-acuş s-a isprăvit…
Toamnă gri,
Tare-s mic şi necăjit!
Over barren, shriveling hills,
‘Cross tattered, empty plains,
Dark Autumn, murk and fearsome,
To lay bedlam hath come.

Skinny, long and crazy-set,
Christening the nature wet
With a hefty laurels wad, -
Madly shaking it in threat
As she wastefully unweaves
Fanning harmful, harsh and bold
Frigid rains,
Dying leaves
Slushy mist,
The common cold…

As from the mountain down she scurries,
All-out cursin’,
Tears flowin’,
All the thistle in the valleys
Head off into sheltered nooks,
While the briars on the glen
Harried greet her down the alleys
Bowing heads and hiding looks…

Yet on the climb, up on the cliff,
Comes out from his clay hut
A tiny cricket, small and stiff,
With frosty wings, looking as if
In black ink was besot:

Gray Autumn brrr,
Didn’t think you’d show up, lass
Not before the ol’ Christ mass,
So at least I could amass
Whatsoever tiny grain,
So I don’t go beg to borrow
From the neighbor ant in vain,
For she never gives me none,
Yet the whole world knows I’ve gone
To her house again to wallow…

Yet, by now it is all moot,
He admits with faded breath
Gently lifting up his foot,
It’s over; the end is set…
Gloom Autumn brrr,
I am tiny and upset!

Tuesday, October 5, 2010

Toparceanu - Rapsodii de Toamana (Autumn Rhapsody)

A personal tribute to my second favorite Romanian poet. Enjoy!

A trecut întâi o boare

Pe deasupra viilor,

Şi-a furat de prin ponoare

Puful păpădiilor.

Cu acorduri lungi de liră

I-au răspuns fâneţele.

Toate florile şoptiră,

Întorcându-şi feţele.

Un salcâm privi spre munte

Mândru ca o flamură.

Solzii frunzelor mărunte

S-au zburlit pe-o ramură.

Mai târziu, o coţofană

Fără ocupaţie

A adus o veste-n goană

Şi-a făcut senzaţie:

Cică-n munte, la povarnă,

Plopii şi răsurile

Spun că vine-un vânt de iarnă

Răscolind pădurile.

Şi-auzind din depărtare

Vocea lui tiranică,

Toţi ciulinii pe cărare

Fug cuprinşi de panică...

Zvonul prin livezi coboară.

Colo jos, pe mlaştină.

S-a-ntâlnit un pui de cioară

C-un bâtlan de baştină

Şi din treacăt îi aruncă

Altă veste stranie,

C-au pornit-o peste luncă

Frunzele-n bejanie!


Într-o clipă, alarmate,

Ies din şanţuri vrăbiile.

Papura pe lac se zbate

Legănându-şi săbiile.

Un lăstun, în frac, apare

Sus pe-un vârf de trestie

Ca să ţie-o cuvântare

În această chestie.

Dar broscoii din răstoacă

Îl insultă-n pauze

Şi din papură-l provoacă

Cu prelungi aplauze.

Lişiţele-ncep să strige

Ca de mama focului.

Cocostârci, pe catalige,

Vin la faţa locului.

Un ţânţar, nervos şi foarte

Slab de constituţie,

În zadar vrea să ia parte

Şi el la discuţie.

Când deodată un erete,

Poliţai din naştere,

Peste baltă şi boschete

Vine-n recunoaştere

Cu poruncă de la centru

Contra vinovatului,

Ca să-l aresteze pentru

Siguranţa statului...

De emoţie, în surdină,

Sub un snop de bozie,

O păstaie de sulcină

A făcut explozie.


Florile-n grădini s-agită.

Peste straturi, dalia,

Ca o doamnă din elită

Îşi îndreaptă talia.

Trei petunii subţirele,

Farmec dând regretelor,

Stau de vorbă între ele:

"Ce ne facem, fetelor?..."

Floarea-soarelui, bătrână,

De pe-acum se sperie

C-au să-i cadă în ţărână

Dinţii, de mizerie.

Şi cu galbena ei zdreanţă

Stă-n lumina matură,

Ca un talger de balanţă

Aplecat pe-o latură...

Între gâze, fără frică

Se re-ncep idilele.

Doar o gărgăriţă mică,

Blestemându-şi zilele,

Necăjită cere sfatul

Unei molii tinere,

Că i-a dispărut bărbatul

În costum de ginere.

Împrejur îi cântă-n şagă

Greierii din flaute.

"Uf, ce lume, soro dragă!"

Unde să-l mai caute?

L-a găsit sub trei grăunţe

Mort de inaniţie.

Şi-acum pleacă să anunţe

Cazul la poliţie.



De-aşa vremi protivnice

Se vorbiră pe şoptite

Să se facă schivnice.

Şi cum ştie-o rugăciune

Doamna măsălariţă,

Tot soborul îi propune

S-o aleagă stariţă.

Numai colo sus, prin vie,

Rumenele lobode

Vor de-acuma-n văduvie

Să trăiască slobode.

Vezi! de-aceea mătrăguna

A-nvăţat un brusture

Să le spuie-n faţă una

Care să le usture!...

Jos, pe-un vârf de campanulă

Pururea-n vibraţie,

Şi-a oprit o libelulă

Zborul plin de graţie.

Mic, cu solzi ca de balaur,

Trupu-i fin se clatină,

Giuvaer de smalţ şi aur

Cu sclipiri de platină.


Dar deodată, pe coline

Scade animaţia...

De mirare parcă-şi ţine

Vântul respiraţia.

Zboară veşti contradictorii,

Se-ntretaie ştirile...

Ce e?... Ce e?... Spre podgorii

Toţi întorc privirile.

Iat-o!... Sus în deal, la strungă,

Aşternând pământului

Haina ei cu trenă lungă

De culoarea vântului,

S-a ivit pe culme Toamna,

Zâna melopeelor,

Spaima florilor şi Doamna


Lung îşi flutură spre vale,

Ca-ntr-un nimb de glorie,

Peste şolduri triumfale

Haina iluzorie.

Apoi pleacă mai departe

Pustiind cărările,

Cu alai de frunze moarte

Să colinde zările.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Gâze, flori întârziate!

Muza mea satirică

V-a-nchinat de drag la toate

Câte-o strofă lirică.

Dar când ştiu c-o să vă-ngheţe

Iarna mizerabilă,

Mă cuprinde o tristeţe


First, there was an earthy breeze

Over vineyards, on the bluff,

Pilfering throughout with ease

Dandelions’ fuzzy fluff

And with harp-like harmony

Answered back the pasture.

All the flowers whispered softly,

Adjusting their posture.

A tall acacia glanced up the peak

Proudly, like a flag.

Its scaly leaves fragile and meek

Ruffled on a branch-tag

Later on, a tiny magpie

Without occupation

With big news came flying by

And it made sensation:

Near the sheepfold, up the mountain,

The poplars and the briars

Warn us of a wintry hauntin’

Ravishing the forests.

And as they hear from far away

Its booming voice, tyrannic,

All the thistle on the pathway

Run in total panic…

The rumor makes it through the orchard.

Down, in the swamp, below.

A native heron, frail and old

Meets up a baby crow

And in passing it relays

Yet even stranger news,

The meadow is now all ablaze

With a mass retreat of leaves!


In a blink, alarmed and scared,

The sparrows take to flight.

In the pond, the bulrush aired

Sways spears left and right.

A martin in coattails emerges

Atop a fragile reed

A speech to make, he swiftly urges

On topic now at heed.

Yet the bullfrogs in the pool,

Insults throw at him in pause

They provoke him, call him fool

With facetious applause.

The coots engage in shrieking screams

As if were burned by fire

Storks atop high stilts (it seems)

Gather to inquire.

A mosquito rather jarred,

Frail of constitution,

In vain is trying very hard

To join in the discussion.

When at once, a pigeon hawk,

Born to be a cop,

The entire swamp would stalk

Surveying from up top

With a task from “up above”

Against one labeled guilty

To arrest him on pretext of

“National security…”

A melilot bean, very ruffed,

Muted by emotion,

Hid under a danewort tuft

And burst into explosion.


The flower beds are all arouse.

Above all, the dahlia,

Like a lady of high class

Showing her regalia.

Three skinny petunias,

Charmed and rather blue,

Talk among themselves, alas:

“Girls, what are we gonna do?”

The old sunflower, with her wreathe

Is scared that, perhaps,

Miserably all her “teeth”

Will now fall in the dust.

And under all her yellow rags

She stands in heavy light,

Like an uneven scale which drags,

Leaning upon one side…

Among the insects, without fear

Romance has now struck.

Yet a ladybug, poor dear,

Curses out her luck.

Depressed, she asks advice indeed

From a young moth, gloom,

Since her husband disappeared

Dressed up as a groom.

Crickets around her are mocking

Fluting carelessly.

“What a world, sister darling!”

Oh, where would he be?

They found him under seeds of grain,

Wasted of starvation.

And are now going to call in

The local police station.


The weeds, scared and affright

Of the hostile weather

To each other whisper slight

To join a church together

And as she knows a pray or two

The refined henbane,

The congregation’s willing to

Elect her sister-main.

In the vineyard, up the hill,

Ripe-brick-red the lobodas

Wish a widow life, a will

To live free en mass

See, that’s why the mandragora

Taught a spiny burdock

To tell ‘em to their face, for a

Cruel and truthful shock!...

Down, atop a campanula

Always in vibration,

A dragonfly has dropped its hula

For a quick cessation

Small, with mini-scales of dragon,

Frailly frame al shakin’

Jewel o’ enamel and golden

Glimmering of platin’.


Yet, all at once, up on the rise

The energy subsides…

And breathless, the wind nearly dies

Like caught by a surprise.

Contradictory announcements

Fly across news’ daze…

What? What? And upon the vineyards

All direct their gaze.

There! Up between the rocks,

Covering the range

Its long train and lengthy frocks

Colored windy-beige,

Atop the hill appeared Autumn

Fairy of the mélopée,

Blossoms’ fear and queen of


Long, she flutters through the valley,

Her illusory gown,

Like an aura full of glory

Draping from hips down.

Then she heads for the horizon

Blowing her vagrant breeze,

Leaving in her path, withdrawn

A cortege of dead leaves.

. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . .

Bugs and dear autumnal flowers!

The muse of my satire

Has dedicated all, no less

An iambic heartfelt lyre.

Yet, as I know that winter comes

Frozen and miserable

I’m overtaken by remorse

That’s irremediable…