Through the darkest woods,
over bleeding wounds,
on the ice of hearts,
past the ends and starts
I will run to you,
I will fly to you.
Like by morning dew
I’ll be quenched by you,
and on burning coals,
through the murk of souls
I’ll depart – for you,
and I’ll fade – for you.
On the highest peak
I will linger, meek,
'till the deepest well
grants me place to dwell
and to pray for you,
and to die for you.
From the ash I’ll rise,
ever tranquil, wise.
And, unseen to man,
I will know then:
you remain in me,
you’re engraved in me.
---
Through the darkest woods...
© Copyright: Маргарита Крымская, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №107031000405
Свидетельство о публикации №107031000405
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