Nastasimir Franović

Dubrovnik 12.04. 1960.
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I wove a wreath for you from my verses.
In memory of your tear, as clean as a well.
To you for reading me long verses
and talked about what is hidden behind the poet's sadness.

To you for teaching me how life is a castle.
The shrine was made and presented by the creator himself.
To you for laughing reading my first rhymes.
To you for teaching me to hide my name from my love.

To you who extinguished the flame of your life with your own hand.
Tears for unborn children and your unhappy love.
Your heart that endures so many blows is like an angry stone.

Your mortal hurray is drenched in blood.
Instead of a vigil, I give you a wreath of my verses.
At your grave, I will read you a sonnet, my debut.
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