"Oh, whose soul is languishing at the threshold,
not daring to enter the house? Without forces to leave...
Is it mine that wandered by the road?
Is it yours that did not long for the way?
Whose two wings, whitish, at the gate?
Are they waiting for me? You?
Just one... Oh, how close we were!
I'm sorry...»
Sweetheart, 100 miles away
the splashing of the rain joins our tracks...
Oh, whose soul is languishing at the threshold?
© Copyright: Галина Аркадиевна Павлова, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120010207766
Свидетельство о публикации №120010207766
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