Читать книгу Unquenchable thirst of love… - Михаил Годов - Страница 37

Oh, that's indeed is a kind of torture

The bow touches vibrant chords…

The violinist's young, but each accord

Resounds like a voice of fortune.

And gently violin surrenders

And he is ardent, as a hun

And wise, just like the runes creator.

Soul, like a snail, went to the sun

And opens up towards the music

And, trembles like a singing violin,

The spell of music make her sing

She soared, clear and illusive

In glowing worlds, so high above

When filled with miracle of love…