A lonely sail, so white and wistful -
Asea, in mists of azure clad;
What does it seek in lands far distant?
What has it left in native lands?
The mast is bent: it creaks and moans
In whistling winds and splashing seas;
Alas, not joy this sail longs for
Nor joy it is from which it flees.
Below it – waves of azure heaven,
Above – the rays of sunny fleece,
But seeks that rebel storm for haven,
As if the storms were somehow peace.
A Lonely Sail...
© Copyright: Маленький Принц, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116051501763
Свидетельство о публикации №116051501763
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