A woman lay beside the sea,
Her dreams began to softly weave,
A sail stood still upon the breeze,
Awaiting fate’s unfolding plea.
Perhaps a prince, with longing gaze,
Beheld her beauty, calm and pure,
Her charm, a spell he could endure,
A vision bright in evening’s haze.
He thought of gifts—a tender start,
Of roses, wine, and love’s first tune,
But doubted if he’d act so soon,
For fear held tight his restless heart.
The woman left when sunset sighed,
The prince withdrew, his spirit still.
The sail moved on, adrift at will,
As though love’s dream itself had died.
Based on the painting by Di Cavalcanti "Lying Woman"
Русская версия -- Айюми "Прощался..." http://stihi.ru/2025/01/08/3148
The dream...
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Свидетельство о публикации №125010900393
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