It was afternoon or later,
A meal under the oak,
Difficult to remember.
The maid happily spread the wash in the yard
Shaking each piece with both round hands
And as if this had defied the flat sky above
A rain, as short and ridiculous
As a child's piano with twelve keys, Began to cool the air. The clothes hung limp and would not dry.
And from behind the river's mist
The round white moon rose suddenly. Someone must have noticed
When she swam in Machov Lake
The floating shirts impatiently against her . . . Of that I could sing,
But not now.
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Topic: It was afternoor or later by Jaroslav Seifert (Read 493 times)