Blind soul
(To the death of the young poet)
She was so beautiful and young
The art of poetry became her friend
The rare book was almost done
Nobody could expect the deadly end
The little genius knew the world
She tried to find the best of dreams
Her wary rhymes of poetry word
Were like the songs of tidy streams
But soul of her was totally blind
It did not see the present of the life
The light avoided childish mind
She went to take that suicidal knife
It is hardly clear to understand
The gift of sky was thrown in trash
The bloody mud of foolish end
Is complicated sign of talent crash