Dar astazi o sa copiez o poezioara a unui mare umorist. Care isi gaseste locul in situatia actuala, cu varf si indesat.
Am ales engleza, deoarece nu am gasit o traducere in romana, iar germana nu prea are cititori, la noi.
***
V-as ruga totusi sa cititi in ordine. Voi incerca sa le postez invers, deoarece am ales un format apropiat de original, in 4 parti. Deci, prima va fi ultima postata.Relevanta se va vedea la urma...
***
Prologue.
His ending moves me; only, mind,
A diff'rent one I can't envision.
He dies - for tragically designed
Was our hero's disposition.
There is a predetermined fate,
And fortune seems to be essential;
But how to act, how to relate
- that is his fault, not providential.
The moral, thus, remains unchanged
And is no empty declaration,
For if once more this world he ranged,
He'd be the same old aggravation.
***
Behold young Fritz, a lively lad,
And Huckebein, a raven cad.
And Fritz, like every other boy,
Would like a raven for a toy.
He's moving closer on the limb;
The bird looks on, mistrusting him.
Slap! Fritz converts his stylish cap
Into a clever raven trap.
He's almost got him! But, alack!
The brittle branch breaks with a crack.
In juicy berries wallows Fritz
While in his cap the raven sits.
The boy is speckled black, and dripping;
The bird is panicking, and skipping.
The raven, fluttering, and twining,
Is caught and tangled in the lining.
"Hans Huckebein, I've got you now!
Aunt Lotte will be glad - and how!"
The aunt emerges from her door;
"This beast" - she says - "one must adore!"
Just as she speaks that fateful word,
Her finger's mangled by the bird.
"He's bad!" - she cries out in alarm,
"Because he does me grievous harm!"
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