The north wind blew into a grey spring city.
It's rushing and can't find a place to stay.
One's waiting for a new desired meeting
with the first love, but time has run away...
The understanding of the loss is wrapping
the lonely soul into wet transparent mantle
from silver drops of rain. It's drizzling letters
of the love name, reminding of the trouble.
The wind is dashing to the naked old linden,
where the first love was met in sunset beams.
Spring pities one and gives a touching miracle -
the scattering of violets at the feet.
Don't part with your loved ones
by Thea Ariss
10.04.2025
The north wind blew into a grey spring city
© Copyright: Тея Арис, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125041007633
Свидетельство о публикации №125041007633
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