A Love Song
Like a concrete slab above us
the murderous threat grinds down once more.
Dismay and feverish tumult hold us,
within our souls we mutter 'War!'
I see that tumult everywhere:
in every fact'ry stack and flue,
I see it in the sunset there
and in the sky so calm and blue.
When one's encircled and shut in
as we are now on every side,
is it really such s sin
a little spot for love to hide?
Is it a sin - I wish you'd say -
that even when the workshops' din
is rent by angry bullet spray
I've time to think, 'I love her still'?
Yes, our tiny world of love
is very narrow, it is true,
that's why with eyes fixed straight ahead
I sing so short a song for you.
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Comments about this poem (A Love Song by Nikola Vaptsarov )
(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
Edgar Allan Poe
(19 January 1809 - 7 October 1849)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(12 July 1904 – 23 September 1973)
(10 December 1830 – 15 May 1886)
(24 January 1572 - 31 March 1631)
(2 November 1994)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
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