One day I told the world aloud:
“We are free, we’ll step unbowed!”
Moldova began its fragile way,
taking careful steps upon its clay.
Though we are a separate state,
our hearts are books that educate —
written in the Romanian tongue,
with ancestral roots forever young.
We are not alone upon this earth,
Romanians feel through every word’s worth.
Though we are parted, split apart,
we do not wish to differ at heart.
Independent, but not from kin,
not from parents, nor Carpathian wind.
The motherland is ever near,
in our speech, beside God’s sphere.
27.08.2025
Andrei GUȚU
Nov 6, 2025
Nov 6, 2025 at 5:11 AM UTC
One day I told the world aloud:
“We are free, we’ll step unbowed!”
Moldova began its fragile way,
taking careful steps upon its clay.
Though we are a separate state,
our hearts are books that educate —
written in the Romanian tongue,
with ancestral roots forever young.
We are not alone upon this earth,
Romanians feel through every word’s worth.
Though we are parted, split apart,
we do not wish to differ at heart.
Independent, but not from kin,
not from parents, nor Carpathian wind.
The motherland is ever near,
in our speech, beside God’s sphere.
27.08.2025
Andrei GUȚU
Request permission to use this poem