It's dawn. The lamp that may have closed its eye
still burns in hope, until his hand is raised
In fevered mirror, paled and amazed
By one who watched, not knowing how to die.
But it was him who did not turn it off,
It burns for him despite the lighted skies
While at a distance seagulls cry and scoff,
And frosted windows melt their patterned ice.
The task of hope - Yves Jean Bonnefoy
© Copyright: Борис Старосельский, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120041200877
Свидетельство о публикации №120041200877
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