названия я не придумала ещё

[ukrainka]

She sells sea shells by the sea shore
Wind speaks from the mountain peaks
Only in whispers but wants to say more
It blows kisses hoping
She misses touches from way before
It plays in her hair tangling lavish curls
Forgotten nightmare leaves a grain of sand
On her skin
Wind gently rolls through her thoughts
Reminding I am yours
I am your next of kin