A powder of bone
Flies on the gale
To me it has shown
A beautiful tale
Of whispers and love
And winter so cold
That froze skies above
And Gods new and old.
I stand in a cave
With a bowl in my hand
I kneel on my stave
And blow on the sand
That once was alive
And dreamt and forgot
Its will to survive
And all was for naught.
Winter
© Copyright: Триумвират, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115061900458
Свидетельство о публикации №115061900458
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