Despised a beauty's weapon now
By one who wears a blindness' shield,
Unlike such kings who weared a crown
Upon their heads midst the great battle-field
The liege must be discerned from others
And blind with shining fiendish eyes,
But there's a fiend who wouldn't shudder
And pierce king's breast, so he won't rise.
A trickle of blood rains on the ground
To cause the growth of fruitful vines,
And my crowned heart waits for the wound
Which your death-like beauty divines.
The crowned heart
© Copyright: Святослава Постол, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117020611251
Свидетельство о публикации №117020611251
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