The darkness calls the thrush to sweetly sing
It cannot equal her unsullied voice
For her pleasing songs my heart rejoiced
My Tatary bride sang with voice supreme
I reminisce her homeland songs the most
Her native Taiga airs did stand apart
That voice allayed my sighing heart
when singing of St George's gentle ghost
Her childhood songs did sound like play
The heavens coveted her childish sound
All pretty lilting tunes and quite profound
Her songs in Russian were my rhapsodies
I can yet hear her ghostly voice today
Her spirit fills my life with melodies
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Author:
George (My real name) (Pseudonym) (
Offline) - Published: February 10th, 2016 12:59
- Comment from author about the poem: She is indeed still with me. Thank God.
- Category: Love
- Views: 19
Offline)
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