Sometimes I stop
In the middle of path.
I can go on, but
I remember my past.
Faded point on map
Full of shadows and scorn,
That is the place that
Only wanted to earn.
But for me it’s below
Fresh sowing of rye:
Never says hello,
Always says goodbye.
That was terrible, though,
It was my place, no more.
Great and scary… So,
Until start of this war.
My middle of path
© Copyright: Александр Хомутовский, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125100705604
Свидетельство о публикации №125100705604
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