Red roses bloom, as I sweep my broom, if sunflowers die, Mister Russia shall cry,
The clothes start to dry, wind that blows makes them fly, I lie in bed, dread filling my head
The morning I wake, I start to break, this is all to much, yet I clutch what is left
I start to smile, the first in a while, I got away now, still I wonder how.
{This page is old. A few letters are faded.}
(Could not find the artist of this image.)
YOU ARE READING
Raivis's (Latvias) Poetry
Poetry(This is based on many different headcannons, such as Latvia is a slave, ect. I do believe Russia is a good person, but for this book it will be based off of a few different ones each chapter. Aka, each chapter is a different headcannon.) A-as the t...
