That’s the thing in point of evenings,
Like a cross between railways.
You can’t break or kill this,
You can’t sleep in the end of the days.
So, as a tale you seemed to be honest.
So kind, but you’ve got your stage.
So, the darkness. The forest.
That is all, that’s the cage.
No murmur and whisper around.
No sun, no moon, no one star.
Just our witchcraft has no bound,
But the usual world is too far…
16.09.2025 (9:33pm)
But the usual world is too far
© Copyright: Максим Митрофанов 2, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125091900645
Свидетельство о публикации №125091900645
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