Your face is paler than the mountain snow,
Your blooming youth is pure as vernal night,
Your smile is bright, but fairly wistful, though.
You are the son of wily Aphrodite.
You never were a part of shouting crowd,
You seem to be halfhearted and unmoved.
They think you are contemptuous and proud,
And you are judged and always disapproved.
Your only shelter is your reachless dream,
Where you can hide from devastating shame.
In wounded soul a thousand fears do teem.
But what’s your fault? And what’s the cause to blame?
You’re not a boy and nor you are a maid.
When sun is up, your place is in the shade.
/2012 год/
Androgyny
© Copyright: Риано, 2015
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Snow in the mountains will always remind us of people we have left below...
Артур Грей Эсквайр 17.12.2015 21:12 • Заявить о нарушении
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