Once a son asked his father,
With a voice of sweet bother,
"What are stars made of?
They're like mourning doves
Watch the sun fading soft,
And then like lamps,
Made of precious gems,
Keep us safe at night,
By their golden light."
And then father says,
"Why are they so bright?
Just to give you the way.
So they're made of love,
And of course, it's enough,
For giving theirs glow
To all men below
Father, Son and the Stars
© Copyright: Эмиль Бенедикт Величка, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125042605891
Свидетельство о публикации №125042605891
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