In the heart of Wrocław, where shadows play,
Stands a streetlamp, aged and worn with day.
No ordinary post, this iron dame,
A witch's cloak, her leafy frame.
Her tangled hair, a verdant crown,
Reaches high, where owls fly down.
Emerald eyes, the lamplight's glow,
Gaze upon the streets below.
She whispers secrets to the breeze,
Of cobbled squares and ancient trees.
Of lovers' sighs and laughter's chime,
Woven in the tapestry of time.
The children sing, with wide-eyed glee,
Of Wrocław's witch, and mystery.
She watches over, ever kind,
A guardian spirit, with gentle mind.
So next time you pass, beneath her bough,
Remember well, the watchful vow.
The Witch of Wrocław, standing tall,
Sees all, remembers all.
But fear not, friend, her ancient gaze,
Holds only wisdom, through the haze.
A protector's love, in every spark,
The Witch of Wrocław, lights the dark.
.png)
No comments:
Post a Comment