Sometimes I wish that I could learn to fly,
To cast away the weight of grief and sorrow,
To rise from earth and greet the boundless sky,
Unshaken by the tears of each tomorrow.
Is pain the price of life, the root of growth?
Why must I fear, and fight, and always struggle?
Can victory exist without a loss?
Or is my hope a fragile, fleeting bubble?
I wish I could fly
© Copyright: Александра Артамонова 91, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123060206127
Свидетельство о публикации №123060206127
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