The withered bush, a fence so old,
Trees bowed their crowns with sorrow untold.
Silent tears they shed, so tenderly,
Washing the slopes with mournful sympathy.
In the misty gorge, on mossy bed,
Lies a city of stone, ancient and dead.
At dawn, the sun caresses each slab,
And paints the sunset with hues of blood
Likani graveyard
© Copyright: Леван Сутидзе, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123103104215
Свидетельство о публикации №123103104215
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