Стихи

I wandered through pastoral myth,
Where everyone praised the eclogue.
I looked at a time-catalogue:
February 55th.

My heart was sprinkling with strife!
Neither tired, nor exhausted it was.
I woke up, and it made me pause:
February 55.

Delighted, I rushed! I darted!
To the sun for it to anoint.
Disappointed, I came to the point
Where I started.

I've lived for hundreds of lives.
I've seen many les fins de siècle,
Prometheus still in the shackles
Of February 55.

02-11-2024