The poets rustle in the woods of verses. <br />All the seasons are green: they glow… <br />Some carry rifles across their shoulders, <br />Some make arrows for the Cupid’s bow. <br /> <br />The only weapon attracting one’s mind <br />Is a word - divine, winged, and refined. <br /> <br />Many lose their way in the forest; <br />Here’re wolves, grams, Red-Riding-Hoods. <br />Eternal comedies and dramas <br />Are played on the stage of the woods. <br /> <br />In spite of being brave hunters, <br />At moonless night, we seek hunters’ huts, <br />And, if you ever fail to find them, <br />Don’t break, beforehand, your heart… <br /> <br />The breeze brings the smell of smoke, <br />You hear the crackle of dry twigs, <br />Near the slope, at the waterfall, the bonfire <br />Temptingly waves its wings. <br /> <br />Here, we’ve come! Here’s the bonfire. <br />Winds fall, the moon and stars rise. <br />Don’t fret, warm yourself, cheer up, <br />Amuse each other with witty rhymes. <br /> <br />Funny stories, strange events <br />Make you laugh and… fill you with regret. <br />And if the flight of fancy amazes you, <br />Encourage the Don Quixotes, don’t fret! <br /> <br />The Greek Diana, our Georgian Dali… <br />Don’t scold them for their bad luck… <br />The hearts and souls of these goddesses <br />Are filled with divine sparks. <br /> <br /> 7.14.08.<br /><br />Tsira Gogeshvili<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/at-moonless-night-we-seek-hunters-huts/
