L. Kondratowicz - Szum brzuzki.docx

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                                                                                                                                                                                                         jak_i_kiedy_sadzic_brzozy_167798.jpg                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                                Szum brzózki  -  sielanka                                                           Pod oknami mojej chaty                                                                                                                                      Biała brzózka smukło rośnie,                                                                                                                              A otarta z letniej szaty,                                                                                                                                          Chwiejąc warkocz swój kudłaty,                                                                                                                                                          Pomrukuje coś żałośnie,                                                                                                                             Wyśpiwywa pieśń niedoli,                                                                                                                             Że, słuchając dusza boli.                                                                                                                                                            „Chłodny wietrze, sroga zimo!                                                                                                                                                                                             Szklany lodzie, śniegu biały!                                                                                                                                                           Wyście ledwo przeszły mimo,                                                                                                                                                   Już ozdobę mą rodzinną,                                                                                                                                                                           Moje liście oberwały,                                                                                                                                                 Rozrzuciły po przestrzeni,                                                                                                                                                                       Zamroziły sok w mej rdzeni!                                                                                                                                          „Na gałązkach ciężką bryłą                                                                                                                                                                                            Lód kropliste zakuł deszcze,                                                                                                                                                       Biały śniegu!  po co było                                                                                                                                                                         Wiać na głowę, na pochyłą,                                                                                                                                                                I obciążać bardziej jeszcze,                                                                                                                             Że wierzchołki wysokimi                                                                                                                                                                       Giąć się muszę aż ku ziemi?                                                                                                                                                                        „Nie na długo wicher głuszy,                                                                                                                                             Ciepły wietrzyk wiosnę szepce,                                                                                                                                                 Wiosna idzie, lód rozkruszy,                                                                                                                                                                                                Ona warkocz mój osuszy,                                                                                                                                               Ciężkie śniegi w błoto wdepce;                                                                                                                                                     W mojej piersi znów widocznie                                                                                                                                     Siła soków krążyć pocznie.                                                                                                                                                                          „Z młodych pączków trysną liście,                                                                                                                Liście wonne i majowe;                                                                                                                                                                                Ale nawet wiosny przyjście                                                                                                                                                                                                                               Nie podniesie uroczyście                                                                                                                                                                   Skaleczoną moją głowę!                                                                                                                             Dzięki lodów ciężkiej bryle,                                                                                                                                   Już wierzchołka nie odchylę.”                                                                                                                                                                                                                                   1098                                                            

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