Under deep sky where the Sun does rising -
Roaming, heat-bestow,
Off to the purpled renewed horizon,
Chasing ghost Luck, we go.
Aged, ever wandering, all-forgotten,
Follow elusive thread,
Which ardent touch, like a grip of autumn,
Burns our old lives instead.
Our old lives
© Copyright: Прохоров Михаил Михайлович, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126091600108
Свидетельство о публикации №126091600108
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