We lay in cradle of the bones
And sun don’t want to heat us well
We are the sons of songless birds
Had nested once in silent hell
The weather changes from rain to snow
And feelings change from fear to hate
But women come and make us hope
We’ll wake up in a better place
And she comes
And she loves
And she holds
Now sun is high and sea is bland
People kind and live in wealth
Pilgrims settled in their dreams
And smile is carved on every face
And she’s so happy every hour
Even when I had to go
Upon the trees our quiet sons
Sleep in cradle of my bones
And it comes
And it longs
And it stops
Quiet sons
© Copyright: Ярослав Тремасов, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113060205194
Свидетельство о публикации №113060205194
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