The month of ghosts you are,
Sweet, windy May…
The dead from near and far
Come back and stay.
And in the streets they stand
So bloody true.
Unburied dead,
Am I in debt to you?
You took myself from me
And passed away.
You left me here to dig
Your bloody graves.
The graves are here, they wait,
And so I do.
Unburied dead,
This time I’ll bury you.
To the unburied dead
© Copyright: Валерия Пурцеладзе, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117051600912
Свидетельство о публикации №117051600912
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