The Autumn’s hand will touch us with
the sacrament of farewell communion.
The maple river leads me towards
the bridge of happiness – oblivion.
The sacred wine is dripping, being poured
by clouds onto every rooftop.
The saddest film of Time is cut and placed
like candles into foggy niches.
It’s useless tormenting with thoughts.
There’s nothing more to cry about,
for all I had to say at leaving Earth,
I’ve said already to my beloved.
September 16, 2009
Eucharist
© Copyright: Александра Крючкова, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125101904615
Свидетельство о публикации №125101904615
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