Whistles alarm. Call runners to stop. Call dogs to come. Wolf whistles howl at girls walking down the street. Some times whistling may call you to come comfort another and sit by their side. The last is needed most in Galilee.
I love your clay whistle, Chen. Thank you for the poem. And Thank you for sharing whatever corner of your life your choose to share with us—I’m grateful. 🙏😊
This is my first time reading you and I find it intriguing because I can hear the foreigner in your word choice but it does not matter nearly as much since you English is very good. But the real foreignness is the voice in your head and that's the one I like to listen to.
Thank you very much, Weston-and yes, I'm still a foreigner for sure(even though my English should be better, really. As other languages that also went to hell). That's very true. Thank you again, it means a lot.
Whistles alarm. Call runners to stop. Call dogs to come. Wolf whistles howl at girls walking down the street. Some times whistling may call you to come comfort another and sit by their side. The last is needed most in Galilee.
🩵
I love the poem and the message. Hold on to yourself no one else.
❤️
Thank you, dear Patris
Love back 🖤
🤍 found it 🤍
thank you for the restack, @Lique-you're too kind🌷
Anyone already asked for an original? I mean the one in Russian? Asking if otherwise
-no
-yes, here is:
(proper formatting disappears in comments)
Кому-то в стихах -на органе играть,
Кому-то-в литавры греметь,
Кому-то из труб и валторн выдувать
Блестящую звонкую медь
Кому-то-от скрипки волшебной смычок,
Кому-то-лады мандолины...
А мне вот достался веселый свисток
Из ярко раскрашенной глины
Когда мне смешно и когда я грущу,
Нескладную песенку я просвищу,
Проблею, проплачу, провою
Лягушкой, синицей, совою...
Когда станет тихо и тускло везде,
Когда все уйдут далеко-
У волн галилейских сойду на песок,
К губам поднесу свой веселый свисток, -
И чудится мне, что ходить по воде
Легко...
Love the Dire Straits performance. Thanks
Thank you!
@EpicGonzo, thank you so much for the restack-means a lot, a lot
I love your clay whistle, Chen. Thank you for the poem. And Thank you for sharing whatever corner of your life your choose to share with us—I’m grateful. 🙏😊
🩵
This is my first time reading you and I find it intriguing because I can hear the foreigner in your word choice but it does not matter nearly as much since you English is very good. But the real foreignness is the voice in your head and that's the one I like to listen to.
Thank you very much, Weston-and yes, I'm still a foreigner for sure(even though my English should be better, really. As other languages that also went to hell). That's very true. Thank you again, it means a lot.