The evening heat sends you away
Into the chilly gardens,
Where the wind is gently swinging buds,
The clouds of silver shining.
The pace of time in the gardens lures
And captures many a wandering.
The gardens of thorn are a sentinel -
All the despair trapping.
Along the alleys, down the paths,
Across the blackening bushes,
The shadows wander ever-fasting:
The whispering gardens’ cast.
The only one will reach the place
Where the Lonely Lilly’s grace
In the abandoned empty space
Is banishing dark into the maze.
If I should once a Shadow face,
Oppressed but off the deadly case,
Away from cages, doomed to rove
Between the borders as if cursed,
I’ll say the word of blessing - “mercy”;
And see a distant soaring dove…
6.07.2025
The Gardens of Thorn
© Copyright: Евгения Блейк, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125071305458
Свидетельство о публикации №125071305458
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