Oleksandr B. Romaniuk

Eternal memory!

The gray color of tears and bitter gray hair… A chimera of sad transformations… Oh, of course I would burn that boat, So that it would not go into the sea, I would start a fire on the shore, I would raise a wild storm in the sky, But I know that you would not give up the oars, Not stumble. And he didn't stop. Only a moment will the tea tree wail after, The flapping winged sail, I would for you, my son, the whole white world, I would even tilt the sun clearly… But the boat is up in the searing winds. But it is far too heavy and drowsy. The wave returns like a wounded bird. Hopelessly. Irrevocably… Natalia Dzyubenko-Mays