Darling camrade, in agony mortal
do not call for friends you in vain.
Let me warm my cold palms total
above smoking your blood from the vein.
And don’t cry, don't moan: you are not baby top earŠµd,
you're not injured, you're just to death shot.
Let me take off your felt boots as the souvenirs,
We still have to arise for combat.
-
Author:
Ksey_Gan (
Offline) - Published: January 19th, 2024 23:32
- Category: Sad
- Views: 11
Offline)
Comments1
At last fighting poetry not for transgenders woke !
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