Sickness enters, armed with fever,
Slaps my brow and calls me brat.
I, forgotten and bedridden,
Slip into the world that's flat.
It contains a faithful luggage,
Lousy guards and wily games,
The mundane and earthy magick
And vampires that abstain.
Doors are opened without knocking,
And the place where all began
Welcomes me, the seventh daughter
Of the lonesome seventh son.
And there is, serenely watching,
Someone that I long to meet
And to say with clear conscience:
"He is Vorbis. I am - me."
18 августа, 2009.
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© Copyright: Кристина Девулите, 2009
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