Morning White Horse
T Tsira Gogeshvili
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If then there were moonless long nights...
And the silent horseman went, like same...
If then the horse, too, was more blackish
As homeless thoughts over sad- knight...
What the smallest birdie could do of a garden
She sang in the afternoon and night by ear her thin.
So, did light for a sympathetic the fan of red rose,
Look, morning has caught up, them, with white horse...
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