Through my sorrow;stained notebook I softly glide,
My verses an air bag, my guiding star.
No wealth I own, my pockets void and still,
Only poetry — my will, my skill.
Without them I’d break on this world of stone,
Melt and vanish, left all alone.
Yet my words uplift me, they set me agree,
As though I live but in poetry.
In the real world I’ve long since ceased to be,
But on these pages, I am free.
2026
I live in poetry
© Copyright: Ольга Владимировна Львова, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126070207998
Свидетельство о публикации №126070207998
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