Our Love Isn'T At Ease - Poem by Bozhidar Pangelov
Our love isn't at ease,
just like the wind in white acacias
and like a bead on child's hand,
it's not at ease.
In it they miss - wonderlands,
delights, flame and solace.
And none of us will call it my own
before it passes us on slightly.
And it will stay somewhere - far away,
And yellow leaves will whisper in snows.
Our love isn't at ease.
It isn't at ease.
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