My soul's in a whirlwind
Of constant turmoil,
Forever tormented,
Like a tree in a wind;
Ok, let it be,
My self-imposed toil;
My troubles will vanish,
Like seeds in a grid;
There's no need to cry -
I won't be forgiven;
Alone for myself the strictest judge;
For nothing I ply;
Stifling the fever;
Looking just fine,
And bearing no grudge;
Feeling important -
Is a man's utter dreaming,
Appreciation -
And crude respect;
So large is my quota;
I can't believe it,
So much affection
That's hard to accept.
My Soul s in a Whirlwind
© Copyright: Ирина Стародубцева 3, 2019
Свидетельство о публикации №119010700399
Свидетельство о публикации №119010700399
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