Posted by: bogpan | януари 31, 2018

Endless Song

The stars swell more and more

in more and more deep of the blue
and roots of the trees high
more and more implicate
the murmur of the dead ones.
Their calmness they breathe in.
The warm wind of the South will not pass you by,
you, the wall of the desert,
and those mowers of the sun
will sing the burden
ahoy …
ahoy…

Conveyor

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