There’s the Moon shining right through the blinds
Framed by lace of the twigs and the branches.
Silence hangs in the air over mounts,
And the bright lunar mould water touches.
And the wind scatters papers on desk
Fresh and strong, it has entered abruptly
Bringing dreams – stupid small arabesques,
Dropping glass from the desk and disrupting.
It has whispered of somebody’s love,
As an accord it ‘s pulled with its gust
The window I didn’t close enough,
Wiping blood from the hand like my past
Our feelings believe it or not
Are like pieces of glass in the blood.
There s the Moon shining right through the blinds
© Copyright: Петровская Мария Георгиевна, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113112109793
Свидетельство о публикации №113112109793
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