Ahead lie only misty distances,
Behind remain but lived-through days,
The colorful hues of my pastoral scenes
Will never again find their ways.
Deceitful masks will be cast aside,
A round sum will be presented then,
Beautiful tales will stay behind,
And ahead lies the final flight.
I’ll unveil those misty distances,
Forget the days that I have spent,
And scarcely will I grieve or lament
Though they’re gone and won’t return.
I Shall Not Grieve
© Copyright: Станислав Видов, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125032603995
Свидетельство о публикации №125032603995
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