Tell me if you still wait for me there,
For my absence was a scar on your face,
The broken strings of your harp.
Do you feel home, cut from the others
By the sea,
Listening to the songs of
Neptune
While the others carve amulets out of stone?
Among the trees,
Charmed by the Dryads,
You insert several names into an envelope.
We were young.
We used to be pen-friends.
What are we now?
Your name comes out in green.
The Green Island
© Copyright: Марина Чиянова, 2022
Свидетельство о публикации №122030206472
Свидетельство о публикации №122030206472
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