When the sunshine
Touches the sky,
Over and over again
I keep recalling us
Meeting for the first time
A book shop was as deep as a wood,
With books placed on shelves in a mysterious manner,
And no one could actually tell
What comes next.
I build new towers
Made of woods -
And your presence
Hangs in the air
Like the purest
Autumn fog.
If someone aims for the sun,
They will at least
Shoot the stars.
Aiming at the sun
© Copyright: Марина Чиянова, 2022
Свидетельство о публикации №122111107878
Свидетельство о публикации №122111107878
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