The river flows, o be it silent
The tortured murmur in the depth,
Its waves are feral, strangely violent
Eager to sink abandoned ships.
So while it flows let me be restless,
On rocks, on water, on the dawn.
I walk alone, each step is breathless,
As if tomorrow’s already gone.
I took whose hand and asked to walk with me,
Was he a lover or a friend?
I did not bother him by questioning
His loyal soul and its intent.
O, why the river flows so peacefully,
Sometimes to bother us with storms.
When no prediction can be rightfully,
The savior of the broken homes.
River
© Copyright: Slimka, 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105031200326
Свидетельство о публикации №105031200326
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