tommybrle @ 2010-03-23T22: 09:00
fat of the land
while I was a child
we walked
half-hot sun, the earth was fired from drought
after Aunt anointed yogurt on my back
country is now fallow
people have given up trouble hoes
grass has grown up
riders saddle our children are guided walk-through
because you know that you'll find some
that because I chose my path
and the country will once again damp from rain
processing will become an everyday
grains
the old mill was locked
Rumin the next waterfall
we played as children
and tried to enter the building Manufactured
Miller came in a boat upstream
as angry and forced a great fear
and pushed by him and other
dumb I answered that I blame
mill is still carrying capacity his strength
we now tastefully cooked grains
feed their children
cereals are you prepared to Bologna
donuts
grandmother went to pojtu
Evening is the curse of his grandfather, said before news
famous gravy and chef and host
Plain view on the village
time diary after donuts
greasy, delicious, refreshing,
addition sad tragic story
Life went its groove
violent, no one is uzmakao
I'm trying to catch him
Yes You and I go out of our shared dreams
ZAL
beginning was at noon
More streets were deserted
Just arrived
Ah spring, when warmer and propupalo
Navrnuli we are in the Giardini Margherita
under a tree in the shade or
under the sun that warms himself cheeks
us from the winter cold has passed only a week
Wanchi brought home;
cheese and wine from the cellar near Bologna
bread is fresh, slightly still gives the yeast
anybody to complain when such a fine
Poleg we zapričali up, grown Škvadra
one after another they came and went but
Tapkanje your flip flops in the hall gives the rustling
And that annoyed me was the night shift
And when I gave other people's foot prints
You are angry because they looked like your
I tried to show you where to go Your anger
I am my anger towards you passed
ZAL II
I was wearing these thick
refresh after your cut
night you still gripped
bowel and shed remains empty
ah, what's left
think what I remember
wooden chairs on top of the bridge
going to the street dictator
your whine about spese
my ideas are not accepted
nor did I answer your desire
the constant sum of the efforts
strength of our bases there is no more
the piazza S. Stefano and the Palace as
abandoned ship at sea;
the night and fog that surrounds us and bothers
empty bottles still rang out porticos
laughter pokoje hands on the drum, guitar
young people are still happy to bandy-legged square
Friends always help in trouble
Tomislav Brčić
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