Maria Barbara Korynt (Poland)

tears started to flow
without the question
across the cheek
it flowed directly into the lips
and dripped from the nose
wet face, as the wet dew on the meadow

a sharp scythe cut my flowers

tears, started non-stop,
not standing, on the cheek.
evil thoughts flowed in,
it was a smell revenges
wet face, because so were fragrant,
like on the meadow

a sharp scythe cut my flowers

tears started to flow
without the question across the cheek
and in a minute the smile,
then again quickly appeared.
the one, who played
with the scythe, had the fun.

non-stop a sharp scythe is cutting



my flowers...