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Gitano Thanksgiving Story

de (23-11-2016)

st_menasA wanderer nomad crossed the country day and night, he never counted the roads, neither the stars, the eyes of his first love, he just sings and he would sell his soul for a summer night. Another time he sold his coat for a glass of wine. He knocked at the door. Inside riches spent the night with full tables. Crystal shake flashes.

Nobody heard the door. Others did not want to hear or to see him. The wanderer descends toward the dusty village

Children singing in front of the house and gave the stranger’s greeting.

He joined the angels, grabbed his violin. They sang until dawn.

The villagers broke the bread, they drank from the same mug.

In the morning, the village woke up. Down in the grass where last night the stars sang, gold coins were shaking in tinkling bells.

In a later hour, they understood. He was Saint Menas.

Ce părere aveţi despre acest articol?
  • Corect 
  • Frumos spus 
  • Îmi dă de gândit 
  • Am învăţat ceva! 


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