The silent forests
have the only, gently resounding
music I can abide:
torrential blue downpours wash away the footprints –
with leaves and more leaves, all copper, to cover them –
the scurrying footprints of shimmering Lady Luck.
Some envious children keep her on the run:
my hunting hounds.
I have hundreds of them,
all eager as arrows,
chasing her without once having had a glimpse of her,
eyes by the hundreds chasing her down, which can see
only beyond the horizon, hundreds of them, all under one name:
Desire.
And beyond the horizon,
in leaves grown still long ago, and still
running clear, drifting ever deeper into the woods,
is the torrent of her tracks.
(Jurgis Blekaitis)
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