Sometimes melancholy overwhelms,
Strikes like a blind arrow.
The soul is utterly tormented,
It strives for a dream...
Where there is no sorrow, no grief,
Where the wind blows gently from the sea,
Where there is plenty of light and warmth,
So that it can find happiness again.
And it csn forget forever,
How it was torn to pieces.
And all those nights of tears and fire,
Remained in the past, no longer beckoning.
Soul
© Copyright: Марина Гайдарова, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126051400238
Свидетельство о публикации №126051400238
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