The roof of the building feels crawling dark
Coming closer to us to our favourite park
I will hold you so you are clad in my coat
As the dark hides a few treacherous roads
As the rain is a cry
It's the end of the hope
It's an obvious sign
So you're not mine any more
The lines crossing window are grey
It's high time to go and for me to stay
Set your watch the wrong way to the news
We might want to establish a curfew
I don't want you to return
You are not longer my concern.
The roof
© Copyright: Ольга Спирина 2, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121040209594
Свидетельство о публикации №121040209594
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