Folk ballad.
Hark! What graces me face with light
Glows downeth from yonder.
This orange globe shining so bright
Fills the heart with wonder.
You rise every eve, just for me,
And you feel no pity,
You are the light in heart-see!
It hurts-sky is cloudy.
Though my prison is my house,
You make me feel home,
Your bright shine is cause,
I am still not alone.
O, moon! My laugh is my sin,
But is this love a crime,
What can I do? You put a pin,
You want me to die? Fine!
The prisoner’s sad heart was dead,
Freedom not in his sight,
“I can’t stand pain anymore,” he said
He killed himself that night.
Shine of the moon
© Copyright: Гильда, 2002
Свидетельство о публикации №102110300184
Свидетельство о публикации №102110300184
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