A keresés eredménye

What Is Left?

Tonight the wind is blowing at my window,
I recall forgotten loves,
The fire from the fireplace is out.
I listen to autumn singing outside
At its old violin,
And memories come back again.
 
What is left of what I loved,
Of the old times scattered in the wind?
Just an old, old picture, from my youth.
What is left of sweet loves,
Of vows, of memories?
A vague scent, a shadow of tenderness.
 
Dried flowers from an album,
Our way under the moonlight,
What is left of them now?
Just dust and smoke.
 
The old park with sad alleys,
With rows of chestnuts and linden trees,
And in the fog as if in front of me,
What was once.
 
Dried flowers from an album,
Our way under the moonlight,
What is left of them now?
Just dust and smoke.
 
The old park with sad alleys,
With rows of chestnuts and linden trees,
And in the fog as if in front of me,
What was once.