How low the hands have fallen, lifeless, still,
How swiftly life slips past, a fleeting will.
How many vain and random deeds we do,
How pride falls fast – so quick, so true.
So love can pierce us, sudden, deep, and real,
When hope is lost and hearts grow cold to feel,
That grace so few can truly understand –
A light once lost, now shining in the land.
Saint Petersburg, 2020
Photo from the author’s archive.
Karelia, Ruskeala, 2017.
How Low the Hands Have Fallen
© Copyright: Виктор Ассоров, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126032102537
Свидетельство о публикации №126032102537
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