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This piece was composed by me, and as it's one of my favourite poems, I wanted to give it 'sounding'. Albert Wass was a Hungarian poet of the 20th century. As Hungary lost both wars, Transylvania was taken by Romania, where Wass was born. For he'd taken part in World War II., he'd to exile himself from the country to the U.S., and he could never return. If he'd did so, he'd been executed (or at least jailed) by the Communist Goverment - that took control of the country for 1989 - like many people. In he's poems, patriotism, nostalgia, the wartime losses, bitterness, and of course, the transylvanian-hungarian land(scape) has a strong role, and frequent presence. The poem is in Hungarian, but I translated it to English for you. Unfortunately, I'm positively not a poet, so I only cared about the content and the meanings, not about the form and rhymes. You can read the translation below. As for the sheet, the piece was recorded with EWQL Brass Section and Finale 2012, and it's up to ignore the dynamics I wanted. But please notice, that in the sheet you can find the correct notation. I was trying to accord to the poem, and 'paint pictures to music' I saw while reading it. I used many specific 'Hungarian folksong - sounding' melodies and harmonies. I take any advice, remark or criticism that helps me make my piece better. Thank you, and best regards! Translation by Defearon: Dearest love of mine, look at the mount's ridge! A coat is made thereon, by the blonde rime. And where the creek flows, recess-like, it visits the woodlands covered with death. And within the woodlands blood and death exists. Everything is cold to the bones... everything, that was scattered as a present, by the Summer. And sometimes, soft winds are sneaking through, sending a message, "the faith was vain", And - what is left here by the dead Spring - it's buried by the leafs of the beeches. And do you hear it? Magical melodies are heared from the clouds high upon! See? There are brother-crows marching through, a wandering pair in love. And they are flying together, forever, where the Fall made melodies and flowers fall... (Maybe I'm still a poet :) ) Dearest love of mine, come with me to the Fall, and stop with me high, at the rime-white edge, under the saddest but finest beech-tree, and see, what beatiful wilting is! And the megic left here... is only left for us!