When the fog comes
Missing airway lines
And below empty sky
Ewerybody is gone
And people like stone
like stone insight
Without happiness or kind
Our moon also blind
But its shine
Really precious to our eyes
To the monsters eyes.
Time to say hello
And after say goodbye
Becose the skyes below
Are empty inside!
Holy divine!
When the fog comes
© Copyright: Роман Томашков Лес, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114020901682
Свидетельство о публикации №114020901682
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