No cold and lightless glass art thou to me,
But kindness, destiny—the soul’s reply.
Thou hast returned beneath this ancient sky.
A miracle! And all I loved is near,
The tenderness, the flame I thought was lost;
With thy sweet smile, my spirit sheds its fear,
Refining gold through winter's bitter frost.
To lose this sacred sense—my only dread,
In this, our life, our truth,
I find my breath.
Through every storm, by thy soft light I'm led
I am thine own, and ever I'll return.
Thy Light Returns
© Copyright: Романович Вероника, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126030500146
Свидетельство о публикации №126030500146
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