Been washed in bitter cold despair,
You use no longer pompous words.
Your spirit drooped, your eyes will never
Regain a twinkle afterwards.
The pleasures of the past all died.
The happy hour will not come.
You fade away in weary trying
To find the right path and your sun.
Not once you suffered from dishonour,
You broke the mirror in a rage.
There is reflection of your own
In which a poet goes on stage...
The vortex of your recollections.
Your eyes are filled with pain, past hope.
It is high time to end depression...
The final day. You hold the rope.
оригинал - http://www.stihi.ru/2013/01/30/6182
Been washed in bitter cold despair
© Copyright: Ольга Бася, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113092405384
Свидетельство о публикации №113092405384
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