My dear Friend, My lonely God,
Your independent peace forgot:
The bright light of the running days
Don’t bring ill luck him, but always
He screams you “Hey, my Got, come on,
Hey, bar the way into the sun!”
And fail to notice in the skies
The cry of unbearable eyes.
***
© Copyright: Светлана Ленская, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103042101022
Свидетельство о публикации №103042101022
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