At times the passion, is so short-spoken,
On instinct daring, in case of need,
Ratcatcher’s whiffle, a simple token,
The sound whereo;f makes, you blindly heed.
Not as a cuckoo, or just a mouse,
Hot firebirdie, to pain the height,
Can you stop being, a docile louse,
When flames together, are intertwined?
The heart is beating, a tiny fishlet,
In wanted flareup, of groggy wave,
The clouds are ripping, the sun’s a skillet,
For lively breezes, the feelings crave.
They rush about, afloat and cheer,
Don’t ask a question: whereto they fleet?
The love betokens – souls have no fear,
Not of a gossip, or judgement seat.
It’s up and ready, to free from snatcher,
It’s seething strongly, like ocean deep,
A simple wiffle, of a ratcatcher,
Alike pipe organ, its sounds beep.
Whiffle
© Copyright: Александр Нагний, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125052500659
Свидетельство о публикации №125052500659
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