When sky
grows darker and the sun is lost,
She feels
so lonely, in this November frost!
No warm
within her heavy heart, no hope!
Just like
the weather, she’s hanging on a rope!
No more
shades of yellow and no crimson leaves,
Streets
become silent, full of strangers and thieves;
She is
swallowed, slowly, by November mist,
When the pulse
of life, grasps her slender wrist!
Sunless
shadows, wildly, die in burning ember;
As withered
trees cry, at the end of November!
When time
is waving his frost-bitten fist…
It’s almost
like… she doesn’t more exist…
Ludmila Bulgari / November 2017
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