by Irina Mocreac, Moldavian Poet

In the way I met a strange woman
In ragged shoes and clothes.
She smiled to me very nice
And call me to her.

I came, a tear from her eyes roll
From bog black eyes. . .
She christened herself and me
And went on her way.

I looked for along time following her. . .
And suddenly she disappear in dust
Known eyes and lips. . .
Wait, it was me. . .
Irina Mocreac is a poet living in Kishinev, Moldavia.

         Image  Bill Murphy 2000-2018 All Rights Reserved