You talk to me as winter comes
In whitest dreams, in solemn songs,
In lightest touches of bright frost,
The winter now has just begun.
You talk to me as trees get black,
As birds fly high and leave our sky,
Next spring they'll easily come back,
While coldest winds will slowly sigh.
You touch my hand and dance with me
As time burns fast, as it runs red,
In winter's sad fragility,
We find our loneliness instead.
Winter s grace
© Copyright: Марина Чиянова, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121122005146
Свидетельство о публикации №121122005146
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