The land is so dry
And the wind is so high,
All field is in red –
It’s blood of the dead.
Brave men lay here
To suffer and fight
And now I hear
The sounds in night:
The cries of souls,
Cruel struggle to win…
The world that moans
Is buried in dead field.
The corpses of soldiers
Lay quiet and still,
And nothing to pray for
To give hearts the meal.
The coldness of dark –
A fading dream…
The battle is won
On that rusted field.
And the open eyes –
They shine through trees,
The hope still smiles
On the cold dry lips…
(November, 1996)
The Dead Field
© Copyright: Моя Любовь, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103082200611
Свидетельство о публикации №103082200611
Рецензии