He had a white skin of the children,
That were killed before they were born.
With a grace of a falling chestnut
He looked from the depths of his stone.
Do you know I'm falling beyond you?
I'm trying to find your hand.
Take me to the sun within you,
Show me your infinite land.
He had a white skin of the children...
© Copyright: Даша Романова, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103101200936
Свидетельство о публикации №103101200936
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