a poem by Krzeslawa T. Skrzypczynska, Poland - poetry writer, author, poet

the stars grumble strangely
Crowd, trouble, parents?
I never trust such fairy tales
unless when I will count these stars up,
which are so countless
I never trust these unpleasantnesses, sometimes, to evil, to those frills,
when I'll look in the eyes. Where?
Whenever? Into the bright ones?
to want to understand old fears,
the disquiet
and to sense,
to track down any strange strings of numbers
of occultism
Someone lonely, someone sick,
next - a calm, no shiver
and will I manage with that's all around,
will he be foster?
Let me guess,
a good one, a good,
at all, not a good one
Who knows this?

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