I will touch you with white hoarfrost,
On your lashes — with coolness pale,
Like the wind of the Tarim waste,
I will glide on your shoulders, my frail.
I will warm you beneath my wing,
Shield you from grief and the storm’s sting.
We speak of the world, everything —
I’m a wanderer unclaimed, your pilgrim.
And the dragon’s soul is yours for good!
I shall bow to you as a lady should.
And now, hiding nothing of what I’ve felt,
I’ll confess my love, so it’s heard and dealt.
I will touch you with white hoarfrost,
On your lashes — with coolness pale,
With my smile, my playful most,
Forever beside you, my frail.
Dragon
© Copyright: Викки Мун, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №226032300653
Свидетельство о публикации №226032300653
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