The Traveller, the Wanderer
Stars drip and drip,
they flow down
from dark blue trees into snow.
And air rings up
like a voice of a bell,
as a song of winds and blizzards.
The lonely traveler wanders in infinite cold night,
in indifferent cruel silence, because he searches
for his own white distant house.
Copyright © Dina Televitskaya | Year Posted 2007
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