A night of memories
by the breath of night.
The forest falls asleep
beneath the rising moon.
By a refreshing breath
of the coming night
gently waters ripple
in the sleeping pool.
The mountain summits fall asleep
wrapped up in clouds
beneath a flood of light.
The weeping willows already sleep,
with a conscious air,
on the riverside.
The night is sad
just like the memories
of my extreme
youth and love,
remained a doleful,
innermost trace
at heart.
I mourn again for all
that was not realized
and dream
the joy of life will be revived,
like a forgotten place
in a delightful song,
as...my tears stream.
2 July 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №106053001717