Is It Poetry
When You Forget Me
Just for me.
The one thing which is all I wanted.
You sleep under the moon,
the all knowing moon which I follow.
You have known this much for so long.
And this is how you,
when I come, I have followed.
If I touched or saw crystal each moth.
Tender red branches I reached.
Music I followed to your window is closed.
Slow it ever so slowly down your body I crave.
And everything which I could move you the sky.
To close to the ash the embers and fire.
Carry me off to you, where you stay.
For the boat I sit in is fragrant.
Metal and varnish the wood,
it is small, your to close to my island.
Little by little I am loved.
And if the music should stop, I stop.
loved by you little by little.
But if everyday, every time,
the deep movement of music is calm.
Quitely speak to me for you see.
When you are moved by just simply me.
Destiny calls because.
using deep sweetness, I rise to your lips.
Which everyday I pursue.
Flower me with your love,
that fire which to hot how it burns me.
Love me well, well you with me.
With me nothing about life can run out.
My love of most, my love of all.
Your love and if with you I am.
It is not to ago long forgotten.
Without my going away from your arms.
The trust in which I have lived.
Then it's true I have lived and not died.
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(March 26, 1874 – January 29, 1963)
(31 May 1819 - 26 March 1892)
(28 November 1757 – 12 August 1827)
- Alexander Sergeyevich Pushkin
(1 February 1902 – 22 May 1967)
(4 April 1928 - 28 May 2014)
(16 August 1920 – 9 March 1994)
(26 April 1564 - 23 April 1616)
(27 October 1914 – 9 November 1953)
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