And when night falls,
The wind will howl on its chain
And the moon, as a yellow fang,
Will rip the bellies of those who sleep —
Those who burrowed into autumn,
Clenching their frozen fists
With a desperate bleak hope
That some strange unearthly force
Might put an end to their nightmares.
And the moon, a crimson glow
In fervent ecstasy,
Will spill across the wastes.
And no one will ask
Why the wind howls on its chain
Like an autumn wracked with pain
That has no anesthetic...
01. Night
© Copyright: Анатолий Ник Галич, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126102408388
Свидетельство о публикации №126102408388
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