I’ll never tell you,
You’ll never ask me,
But we will always know
That music melting,
But song is flowing,
And something nice is growing.
I hide this deeply
In running water,
But always music’s playing.
Your soul thorough distance
Gives birth my notes,
And earth again is swaying.
May 1 2005
The magic of music
© Copyright: Татьяна Медвецкая Постолатьева, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115062907751
Свидетельство о публикации №115062907751
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