That wasn’t love, just an affair,
A little dove which I’m so scared.
I’ve made endeavour to escape,
At night put on my bloody crape;
A flight of these again miscarried,
I was again forever buried.
It was th’ impetuous mistake,
I shouldn’t be a candid fake.
Anew I’m prisoned for the fact:
That you want me to be your bract.
Just bract
© Copyright: Ольга Халипина, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116120304894
Свидетельство о публикации №116120304894
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