Reach me your hand.
It’s not the end.
Put off a white shroud.
Come to me, my dear.
Come through the crowd.
Let go every fear.
I love you so much.
I’d like to touch
Your cold forehead…
And I exactly know,
You are not dead.
It’s just a spooky show.
With my shaking arms.
I brake through them
They won’t do you harm.
If they really dare
They’ll try my fair.
You are lying
Under withered roses.
They say you were dieing
And your heart was frozen.
I am standing near…
Welcome to life, my dear…
31.05.06
Get out of the mortuary
© Copyright: Алла Семперантова, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109080902167
Свидетельство о публикации №109080902167
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