you sleep like a babe
upon a mother's breast,
if you leave me, dear,
I'll curse the rest.
with every move
that widens the space,
no life, no rush,
just sorrow's trace.
..
each of us harbors
the pain within
and breaks a thread
that seems unseen.
unseen thread
© Copyright: Эл Стайнберг, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124011606913
Свидетельство о публикации №124011606913
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