SINGING IN THE RAIN |
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The fingers of the rain are tapping at the windows Many times I send my thought ahead to examine the landscape and then to wait for me as for a dog. The fingers of the rain are tapping at the windows I can't sing anymore I can't manage the words neither the flower nor the car nor the oxencart. I can't manage to can And the fingers of the rain are lapping at the windows They are taking my eyes away through the glass for a walk Come on, my darling and clean into myself. |
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Florentin Smarandache was born in Valcea, Romania 1954. In the 1980s he set up the Paradoxist Literary Movement. He is a polymath and has published over eighty books in literature (poetry, dramas, novel, essays, short stories, translations, diary), arts (his outer-art), rebus, philosophy (neutrosophy as a generalisation of dialectics), mathematics (see the Smarandache algebraic structures and Smarandache geometries), quantum physics, engineering and cybernetics (information fusion). Another poem can be found on The Zimmerzine Archive. |
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Poem & Photograph © Florentin Smarandache, 1999 Web design by Gerald England This page last updated: 12th November 2006. |