You visit me and say few gentle Words,
And touch my Head by your softest Wings,
Your Flight's direction may be towards
To very many different things.
And I am sure you can not defy
Of your Flight I'm not a single Prize,
For me it's left to pain and to cry,
While the Others have the Paradise.
My beautiful Butterfly
© Copyright: Денисов Д.А., 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105070701391
Свидетельство о публикации №105070701391
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