 |
Swans, slow dance of pretty strokes,
the indifferent walk on the pride
obscures the stranza hideing the bare.
Sad eyes crossed by the roses thorns
Sweet fragnances may hide strinking smells.
Swans, I've seen the beauty.
Swans, I've seen the simplicity.
But still, there're some gardens in which, statyes cry...
Sweet fragnances may hide my soul, my heart, my eyes, my arms...
|
 |
