Loveless comes — you are glad.
As through the years your Love
Made you speechless and sad,
Turned you in a sick dove.
Loveless is rich in words,
It warms you by its furs.
You can fly with the birds
On the gold wings of mirth.
Love can grasp in its hug,
Love hurts such that you fight.
Loveless is like a jug,
Where sly gin is inside.
Love and Loveless
© Copyright: Валентина Ильина-Печенова, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112021602959
Свидетельство о публикации №112021602959
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