Tranquil and windless there it goes.
The day of rest, the time of leisure
Draws near and quietly postpones
All utter things we used to measure.
It flows away as fast as doe,
It falls like sand through spreading fingers.
We need to ride the drifting floe,
To notice nobody who lingers.
The sky is gray and leaves are brown.
We used to like the sun and wonder
If we would see its lucid crown
Through flashes and tremendous thunder.
The times of rest will come and go
Like lonely islands in the Ocean.
The waves are high, the sun is low,
The life is an eternal motion.
September 17, 2013
Motion
© Copyright: Олеся Алтунина, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113120400896
Свидетельство о публикации №113120400896
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