No greatest song or fairytale, or story
Can written be without the winged Muse,
Who lives in flying magic territories.
When she is caught, she can not be refused
So many people carve their Muse in marble
The others make it from a pliable clay
And some are searching through the seas of troubles
To find her once upon a summer day
She’s not like lightning that cuts stormy heavens,
She’s like a cozy plaid on chilly night,
Like ringing bells that banish out the ravens
On wasted soul she sheds the healing light
In desert heart, that was an arid mountain,
The herbs grew straight, and rocks had disappeared.
The flowers of creation bloom and sparkle.
And there are trickling honest writer’s tears
31.05.2022
Whiskey
Muse
© Copyright: Алёна Химера Моисеева, 2022
Свидетельство о публикации №122070400457
Свидетельство о публикации №122070400457
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