Poem by Margaita Petkova
Translation from Bulgarian: Julieta Kaludova
He must have greeted all the t
This article is a Falchion mag exclusive.
To read it please Sign in, Subscribe or go to our app available for desktop or in the Google, Apple, and Amazon playstores.
Down the hill he went, then he took a turn,
into the verdant fields my father descended.
Twenty years now I wait for his return
and for twenty years mom is getting married.
