The fire is ashes the spark don't return
My heart's a hollow with nothing to born
I'll walk to the field where the nightingales cry
The gross bows low like me like i
And the wind will whisper will whisper low
Where the nightingales sing and the sorrows grow
The sky will bend and touch my pain
In that field where silence reigns
The trees hold secrets that star won't share
There shadows stretch but I'm not there
I'll stand with the earth as it greaves night
And the moon look on with borrowed light
If the gross could speak would it tell me to stay
Or beg me to leave and fade away
If the nightingales knew would they sing me home
Or lead me deeper where the lost ones roam
Where nightingales sing
© Copyright: Анастасия Юрьевна Шихалева, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125093001165
Свидетельство о публикации №125093001165
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