I see a blurry face The Sun
It looks behind my back.
I keep my monsters in a bun,
Until you press a tack.
Your eyes reveal my shady thoughts,
You take them in the light.
Don’t come across my dreadful lots,
Don’t fight with them, don’t plight.
Your ways don’t cross with mine, though
You want to turn on them.
Just go away, you, little boy,
Your love won’t stop my Lent.
Свидетельство о публикации №119031407506