In April, fresh and dim,
We luckily were close,
You had my faith and fears,
I held the hand I chose.
In feathers of that spring
We slowly took to skies,
And you, adorned with rings,
Were solemn and divine.
In rains of lonely spring
Our happiness would sprout,
And universal things
Were voicelessly renowned.
* Based on classical poetry translations by Lyudmila Uvarova
In april to Lyudmila Uvarova
© Copyright: Марина Чиянова, 2022
Свидетельство о публикации №122043004806
Свидетельство о публикации №122043004806
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