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1874–1934

Tat

Rudolf Maister

Oblaki so šli črez gore … Nebo se je solzilo in vetrič je poljubljal nebeške solze.

Škropile so kapljice tla. Iz biserov teh mokrih sem slastno žejen srebal krepilo duha.

A vendar me srce boli … Saj moram tebi, zlatka, ko tat pred svetom krasti ljubezen z očmi.

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Tat · Rudolf Maister · Poetry Cove