The pain makes sense.
The pain builds truly towers gray,
Spreads wings on which black celebration soars.
Future gray.
The pain makes deal, deep metal clouds, strophes, what the life itself!
But gladly i would change these
Fit heartly words
For simpleness and laugh
Of sunny day,
For happiness with you.
Now, now I know the truth,
Not that cold smoking castle
Drifted into me melancholy
But you,
Your prolonged absence.
I hated this huge cold city
Because in there
Were no you.
To Friend
© Copyright: Натаниель Йорк, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №218072101131
Свидетельство о публикации №218072101131
Рецензии