The Young Martyr
The Young Martyr
A painting by Laroche, 1855
Can you tell the blue ice
Of her body beautiful?
Hands together bounded, her
White dress floating in the
Dark water of streams and
Days. Ever dreaming,
Her face a Copenhagen.
Her hair's down
In hope of
No more hopes...
The wavelets will bring her
To the last breaking of life.
Veronika 27/07/2007
Par akinorev31, Lundi 5 Mai 2008 à 19:40 GMT+2 dans Dikt -4- (article, RSS)
