He was only a tired wanderer. And I was his joy.
When he looked at me, my movements became smooth,
And I believed in beauty, gracefulness and youth
And in our peace that time can not destroy…
His eyes were blue when we met.
His eyes were blue and looked with a gentle light
That filled the room where I was sleeping tight,
Feeling the advent of his quiet tread.
And when we met, it was the dawn of spring,
When frozen souls were begging for a fire;
When heavy shoulder was recalling wing
That every one of us became a flyer.
I was his joy. I knew. Without swear.
I was his joy that led him through the sorrow.
And though today the road is calling him somewhere,
But anyway, he’s coming home tomorrow.
He was...
© Copyright: Лиз Цуркан, 2019
Свидетельство о публикации №119090204222
Свидетельство о публикации №119090204222
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