Should one day on the asphalt I fall,
down my face, on the road, paved with rubble -
don't impute to the asphalt the fault,
don't attempt to repair the trouble.
Don't revive asphalt's heart, don't ignite...
Don't connect asphalt's stones to the current:
it's been giving me all of its might -
from now on - that's no more, though, occurrent.
On the road - please, don't follow my trail,
please, don't paint it in colours of mourning:
it's been carrying me well without fail -
since the Morning - until the Dawning.
Don't transfuse my exclusive blood type:
no one shares this type whatsoever.
I've been walking outside any tribe -
just the asphalt has walked with me level.
Just my road - was my blood and my wire.
Just the asphalt - was trusty and worthy.
Don't attempt to heat up it with fire.
Don't despair. Yours forever, Galsworthy.
The Last Will of the Young Man called Galsworthy
© Copyright: Джерри-Агния Меркьюри, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120111400706
Свидетельство о публикации №120111400706
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