Where in the burnt gardens
Angels and souls spend the night
Dead trees,
Where in the golden deserts of the night
The sands of oblivion are singing,
And silence stands,
Like a clear lake,
Where is the light clogged
Into the folds of the shadow,
And the shadows smell
By the skin of a woman,
Where for the bird,
Calling the dawn,
There is not a grain -
There is a shelter for wandering charity
Still looking
Lord, with bare feet
His exhausting flesh.
There
© Copyright: Артём Огурцов, 2022
Свидетельство о публикации №122102604377
Свидетельство о публикации №122102604377
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