J.Kasprowicz - Nasturcje.docx

                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                       Nasturcje                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                  Kwiaty nasturcji gęste,                                                                                                                                            Nieugaszone rany,                                                                                                                                            Krwawym wieńcem opasują                                                                                                                              Nasz domek drewniany.                                                                                                                                            Świeca jak złote słońca,                                                                                                                              Płoną jak purpury                                                                                                                                            To spadają ku dołowi                                                                                                                                            To się pną do góry.                                                                                                                              Naokół naszego balkonu                                                                                                                              Smrekowe korytka,                                                                                                                                            A z nich główki swe wychyla                                                                                                                              Kwiatów gawiedź wszystka.                                                                                                                                            Niektóre z nich swe dzióbki                                                                                                                              Wznoszą szczebiotliwie,                                                                                                                              Z gniazd drewnianych, niby ptactwo                                                                                                                Pierzące się na niwie.                                                                                    ...