Krila nathnennya

Thoughts fly from behind your hands like birds, I want to catch - I rush about helplessly: I write, read, think, scribble... That, Lord, there was a growing cry in You. I write todi if you move, I want it to be inaudible to human hearing, Your living, fiery-pure word, What penetrates the spirit. Thoughts, mov birds, you can’t catch them, Happy, trembling, bitter, anxious... So speak - I will listen, Ti - dzherelo mogo nathnennya, God.