How lucky I would be
If you came back to me –
The yard, the house, the old books
Would smell of chamomile.
The lindens in the middle
Of the yard would rustle happily
If they knew it was you
Who hid my stories.
Oh, I know that they were left behind
Where the frosts never end,
Where among the wreaths of mourning
Are born the song and pain.
(Leonardas Andriekus)
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Based on Topics: Sadness Poems, Pain Poems, Books Poems, Mourning PoemsBased on Keywords: chamomile