Now you are like the Melmot-wanderer –
Alone at the road. And pure
Morning doesn’t gladden you,
Telling: «Take it, it’s yours.
Extend your hand immediacy
Out of window and close
Your eyes; tell what you see there
But fears and purpose...»
«Past wasn’t real, » - the Present assures
and everything reminds:
Pitch darkness is inside of you
And miles away – behind.
For Farewell
© Copyright: Анастасия Амадаре Майер, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112091707570
Свидетельство о публикации №112091707570
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