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The oak 

I am alone like the oak near the spring.
Do you remember my love,
That old oak with its crinkled bark?
Hard and crinkled bark as my heart.
Though it was like a year of tears, God’s tears in my drink
In the recollection of its leaves from the spring.

This day is like all the other days, not a dream
And if everything comes from you
Why should everything be so late and so rude?
It took my life to give me to anybody nude.
It took my life to give me to this insensitive, mean,
World of aches, to this intransigent Medusa,
To this snake headed creature.

I am like the old oak when the world is gone.
I’m licking my wounds
(It says Bob and Jane everywhere)
And my leaves started to fall and nowhere
I’ll find your eyes for all things I’ve done.

Bogdan Gugiu

Cleveland, December 24th, 1998