(for Margaret)
Sometimes we running to the hill.
Sometimes we fighting with the mill.
Sometimes we wanting...
Our dream...
To pass away.
But when we chasing something real,
And when we loosing something near,
We playing
Just roles
In comedy...
We trying let our thoughts to fly...
And say our friends "goodbye"...
Now every evening
We crave
In home astray...
Why ain't we dreaming on the hill?
Keeping souls unreal?
And losing
Ourself
In flame of play?..
Play
© Copyright: Ник Корвин, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109071905903
Свидетельство о публикации №109071905903
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