A day begins, shadows disappear,
a small twilight appears
there is a messenger of the great sun.
You step over and sing
sun wakes up slowly
blood-coloured landscape is projected in the distance
that I see it from my house.
Farmers have arrived on the plain
and the effort stays in their hands
machines that thresh wheat,
throw around ducats.
Shaves have gathered gently
work is now in height
sun is made a place
above us at noon.
– Valentin Gabriel Cristea
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