Demons disappear, fading,
Burn to ashes former lovers,
Every shadow meets its Reaper,
Every step through ages lags.
Someone's meant to be a Maiden,
Someone's meant to be a Mother,
Since my broom is not for sweeping -
I am meant to be a Hag.
Let me brew the mead of moonlight,
Sweeten it with disappointments,
Darken with the well-earned wisdom,
Harden it with shards of glass.
Be an hour light or gloomy,
Be my brow bereft or lofty,
All applaud or no one listens -
Let me brew it for the stars.
The mead of moonlight
© Copyright: Кристина Девулите, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109120600838
Свидетельство о публикации №109120600838
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