Beyond the pane, till ice is made,
The needle peal of silence stayed.
Within the boudoir, where orbits blend,
A minute weaves what chance may lend.
A touch— closure of the circuit scheme,
That moment—deep and mute, supreme.
The night descends, one dream to don,
Soft-weaving robes of Dana; drawn
Gold-threaded art with tender flame
Gives fiery peace where hustles claim.
Fore hosts of stars, indifferent, apart,
That blankly gaze on mortal heart.
Light mirrors light, through fragile chance,
Extending our souls' brief romance.
Yet what shall bind, through mortal breach,
Such fleeting fates to timeless reach.
Danaё
© Copyright: Наталия Стефанович, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125110503020
Свидетельство о публикации №125110503020
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