• Whiskers

    A poem by Mediana Stan, translated by Rafael Manory, illustrated by Liviu Boar


    The grey Hamster is not still
    At the bottom of the hill,
    With his snout, whiskers stiff
    Like wheat bristles, starts to sniff. 

    He sniffs briefly to the ground,
    He pricks up his ears to any sound.
    He looks up through the wheat spikelets,
    Rain hits him with hard water pellets.

    After the rain stopped, the ground dried,
    He chained the door from outside,
    And coins in his pocket will hide.

    Off he went through the small ditch
    Straight to his friend, the mouse called Mitch.


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