Poets have one more care—
To sort out bookshelves tall,
Where crowds of unwritten verse
Have stood there long since all.
If these lines were gathered whole,
Shaken off dust from yore,
Shown to amazed world's gaze,
Who is «unrecognized genius»? What lore?
Perhaps then comes another book,
Eternity of history to change,
Gleaming at our world's peak,
Leading us into infinity strange.
Prologue
© Copyright: Станислав Видов, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125050901939
Свидетельство о публикации №125050901939
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