When nothing's left, but hope,
I hope myself to Thee, -
an empty envelope,
no addressee,
no stamps, no sender's name, -
'twill last me to my last, against the blame,
and perjury, and everything that kind
and noble people cherish in the mind.
Yes, I shall perish, poetry's not fit
to hope my soul back into wit.
27 сентября 2016 г.
Hope
© Copyright: Андрей Тюков, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116092704856
Свидетельство о публикации №116092704856
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