My love got sick with death..
It's not a long desease.
I'll send its fading breath
To you. Blow out it, please.
Don't write me back. Don't pray.
Leave stories for your meal.
My wind was yesterday.
Now everything is still.
Now I don't want to find
A lonely calming place
And something to remind
Our happy happy days..
I've killed my faded flowers,
I've swept your traces out.
But I have no powers
For tiny final clout..
My love got sick
© Copyright: Юлия Конда, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114061300451
Свидетельство о публикации №114061300451
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