User Review( votes)
written by: Anahit Arustamyan
The page was written but now it's blank.
I wonder where the words have escaped.
Maybe a ravine swallowed them up.
I remember the ink was even bluer than a spring bluebell.
The words both cried and giggled like a river in its craze.
Now the page is as pale as my weary face.
The page was even larger than a blue-eyed lake.
I don't see its size now in this huge shade.