The sickle of the moon had forged a bracelet
for a young spring that pulled a tippet from thin frost.
A whitish weightless strip shined in the spaceless
black coloured sky like an enormous moveless ghost.
It was the gift to smile the pretty lady,
which had to catch a glimpse of the amazing eyes.
The kindly shine should melt the soggy stained
protrussive snow and a transparent silver ice.
The spring was sleeping under the thin tippet
to a calm melody of the wind magic flute.
The winter tore to pieces a fly ticket,
throwing the ones from the dark sky in a blue mood.
The pieces of the ticket were slow falling
with the white gleaming snowy weightless quite big flakes.
That was a clear sign for the returning
of the interminable dove-colored cheerless days...
by Thea Ariss 18.03.2024
A tored to pieces ticket
© Copyright: Тея Арис, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124031906478
Свидетельство о публикации №124031906478
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