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Paradox
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| Paradox Anna Wickham |
| Link to further information |
My brain burns with hate of you.
I am like a green field swept by scorching wind,
Everything withers.
There is nothing left of promise
But black death. Yet in my heart is our eternal love,
Hard and pure as a moonstone,
And like an opal,
Subtle with change.
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Oryginalne dzieła tego autora są własnością publiczną w krajach, w których prawa autorskie wygasają po 78 latach (lub mniej) od jego śmierci. cs | de | en | eo | es | fr | he | pl | ru | zh |