A poem to Querem
The Milky Way is spilled in you,
a grandeur of pure awe:
the gentleness of each light's hue
that mix in constant flow,
much like a cup of latte's dark
with caramel and milk,
which dress the bitterness of murk
into the sweetest silk.
If that is but the veil of day,
what when the Star appears?
How blinding will be it's first ray,
to throw shade on the Milky Way?
How won't I burst in tears?
A poem to Querem
© Copyright: Михаил Фризен, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124011600119
Свидетельство о публикации №124011600119
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