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Outside of the Muzeul Naţional al Literaturii Române was a large banner showing the poet Nichita Stănescu with outstretched arms. Whenever I come across his name, I think of the first of his poems that I ever saw: |
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Tell me, if I caught you one day And kissed the sole of your foot— Wouldn’t you limp a little afterwards Afraid you’re going to crush my kiss? |
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