On the Roof and Fences
(Mbi çati e gjerdhe)

A whiff of alfalfa rose with the dampness from the fields, yet the icy hoarfrost idly coated the windowpanes.

All life was in the gloom, on the roof and fences, as if some struggling soul, black smoke, were grasping for the heavens.

Dusk then spread over the plains and hills, but on the papers the candle wax hardened in vain.

This was, and yet was not, the landscape I longed for; something in its depths was missing, but how could I retrieve it?

Very soon, all of a sudden, the window darkened, and a dream approached, luring me to sleep.