O'er deadly grip blooms tenderly a flower,
An infant herald of his master's reign.
Yet unaware of Winter's drained power
He beams and bids to Winter his disdain.
The old crook, fierce and brimming now with outrage,
Yells from despair and sends down icy breeze.
Young rascal still with his infantile courage
Shakes off the frost and proudly stands at ease.
She strikes anew - he playfully endures it,
With laughter forcing further to decline
The witch's spell who is no longer lucid
Upon conceiving her own deathly sign.
The old witch dies, exhausted by her rage,
And flowers bloom foretelling the new age.
31. Over deadly grip blooms tenderly a flower
© Copyright: Александр Арганаиди, 2022
Свидетельство о публикации №122042205560
Свидетельство о публикации №122042205560
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