My boy, the winter will pass by,
You’ll not recall me, I surmise,
But I was waiting, like the snow,
While you went where the cold winds blow.
My boy, the spring will come one day,
And touch the ice where fate lays way.
Don’t you fret — the snow that fell
Is just a trace of my own spell.
My boy, then summer will arrive,
Your life will bear what it can give…
But I won’t feel its warmth alive,
Still captive in the winter’s hive.
My boy, now autumn’s in the air —
Time to think of winter’s care,
Where I dwell on, though, to be clear,
You won’t recall me, never near.
My boy, may only springs arise
Along your path beneath the skies.
And I, perhaps, will come thereafter…
When you recall me — if you ever.
My boy
© Copyright: Катя Лац, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126050706313
Свидетельство о публикации №126050706313
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