Pocetna Jaksic Kostic Santic Maksimovic 

ZBOGOM                                                                                                                                                                                         Zbogom ! ...                                                                                             Nikada mozda necu,                                                                                             tvoj mili vise cuti glas,                                                                                             nikada nece ruka moja,                                                                                             grleci tebe u samoci,                                                                                             rasplesti tvoju gustu vlas;                                                                                             niti ce ikad vise moci                                                                                             carobna senka tavne noci                                                                                             u zagrljaju naci nas ...                                                                                             I sve to zasto?                                                                                             Ja sam znao :                                                                                             Tuga i radost                                                                                             - sve je san.                                                                                             I dok sam slatki sanak snivao,                                                                                             s' gordoscu ja sam ocekivao                                                                                             rastanka naseg tuzan dan.                                                                                                                                                                                         Tako pobozno fakir pada.                                                                                             Sluzeci verno bogu svom :                                                                                             svrsetak igre smrt mu sprema,                                                                                             al' on od smrti straha nema,                                                                                             nego se gordo sreta s' njom.                                                                                                                                                                                         Vojislav Ilic .