Sometimes each tree awakes and tries to fly;
Its wings are weak, and they can only wave,
But suddenly they leave their stem, their source,
And we say "leaves", the falling leaves although
They fly indeed among the very various
Wings of the birds that are more multicoloured
Then leaves, not only yellow, red and scarlet,
But darkly speckled as wings of hawk that hunts
The willow-ptarmigan in whom I see
My soul protected by the visible wings
Of the invisible beings who remain
In sky while other wings are falling as
The leaves in autumn, but among them hover
The rapid, ready, radiant wings of angels.
1.09.1996.
Wings
© Copyright: Владимир Микушевич, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112110310433
Свидетельство о публикации №112110310433
Рецензии