Dumitru Matcovschi Poezii Page

“What do I tell them?” she asked.

She drank. The water was cold and tasted of iron and stone and centuries.

“Fântâna nu se dă… Fântâna rămâne… Că fără de fântână Ne rătăcim prin lume…” Dumitru Matcovschi Poezii

Nicolae stood up slowly, his joints cracking like old wood. He took the bucket and lowered it into the dark throat of the well. Far below, the water stirred and whispered. He hauled it up, the rope groaning, and brought the dripping bucket to his lips. He drank.

When she walked back to the house, she did not carry a message for the delegation. She carried the book. She would read them the poems herself. And if they did not understand, that was all right. “What do I tell them

Ana knew she would find him at the well.

Ana knew the poem. The well is not given away… The well remains… For without the well, we wander lost through the world… “Fântâna nu se dă… Fântâna rămâne… Că fără

“They want to pave the path to the new well,” Ana said. “And fill this one in. It’s a safety hazard, they say.”