Wreath by Helengard
On the river,
Winds are slowly sailing,
A dry wreath on the water,
Blown to move faster
Its braided rwigs,
Unraveling,
Blown to the shores,
And erasing old memories...
A horse is going by on a steppe,
Fire mane,
I lost the serenity,
And the rivers of tears,
A brown horse without a rider,
Going by as an orphan,
Anguish is burning me,
As of young nettles.
Where the flowers grow on fields,
Calling us with their white color,
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