There are more blood in the fields
crushed in the dust of the land
and in the roots of many young sprouts.
It is born with the sun
the spirit of antiquity and eternal existence
long time ago that I used to construct.
In the fields the wind still flows
and carries the voice
where it is heard more.
In the woods near the hummock
irrelevant and empty,
where streams continue to roar...
All rights belong to its author. It was published on e-Stories.org by demand of Ivan Sokac.
Published on e-Stories.org on 11.10.2019.
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