„Do you mean to tell me your whole family was shocked and surprised when your ninety-five-year-old uncle died?” Bill asked Doug.
„That’s right.” Doug said.
„But if he was ninety-five years old, why was everybody surprised?” Bill asked.
Doug shakes his head and says, „Well, who the heck would ever expect his parachute to not open?”
| There is a wind where the rose was, Cold rain where sweet grass was, And clouds like sheep Stream o’er the steep Grey skies where the lark was. |
E un vânt unde floare a fost, Ploi reci unde iarbă a fost, Și norii în turmă, Se-alungă din urmă, Cer negru unde pasăre a fost. |
| Nought warm where your hand was, Nought gold where your hair was, But phantom, forlorn, Beneath the thorn, Your ghost where your face was. |
E gol unde pletele-au fost; Și frig unde mâna ți-a fost; Nălucă pustie, Sub searbăda glie, Strigoi unde chipul ți-a fost. |
| Cold wind where your voice was, Tears, tears where my heart was, And ever with me, Child, ever with me, Silence where hope was. |
Zefir unde glasul ți-a fost, Și plâns unde inima-a fost De-a pururi cu mine, Copilă, voi ține Tăceri ce nădejde au fost. |
Walter de la Mare | traducere de Veronica Focșăneanu |
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