my poems are small, my words are falling down.
In the deepness of well the water wispers.
At the open door, a girl in a white gown
stands and shivers.
my love is twisted, my presense' shadowed.
my piety is being rightfully given now to the etheral fog.
my tiny thoughts dwell in the shallow.
my solitude breeds like a frog.
7
© Copyright: Неттер Линг, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123121807062
Свидетельство о публикации №123121807062
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