You walk so slow — but still you walk.
I do not count your every stride.
I count the heartbeat, not the clock —
The one I feel from far inside.
Through April rain and open spans —
The bridge-town holds you, cold and deep.
But still I hear your pulse's plans.
Your rhythm is the one I keep.
The Only Measure
© Copyright: Евгеша Семёнова, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126042305728
Свидетельство о публикации №126042305728
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