Hark, the darker night inside, out the worse the storm,
Seems like no one over there ever keeps you warm.
I was born to keep you warm
through the three-dog night,
dance unto your horn,
I wish I might.
Hark, the worse the storm outside, closer the despair,
feels like none to keep you warm ever over there.
I was born to keep you warm
three-dog night away,
dance unto your horn,
I guess I may.
Hark, the closer the despair, dear, the wilder hunt,
everyone is haunted there if he's not a haunt.
I was born to keep you warm,
dance unto your tune,
that's all why they call me
Cwn Annwn.
Cwn Annwn
© Copyright: Бедринский Андрей, 2024
Свидетельство о публикации №124122604606
Свидетельство о публикации №124122604606
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