Where there is no spring


In the heat of endless summer,
Some poor souls will never see
The pleasures of a white winter
And the joy its end can be.

Birth again, a new disorder,
Wandering souls will never know.
I sit still and just remember
How it felt to melt some snow.



1 Comentarii

    Pentru a lăsa comentarii este nevoie să te autentifici. Nu ai cont? Deschide unul!