Transitory moment of happiness. Crossing the vault of the skies, in languorous the one evening heat of summer, on your castle a moon tear ran. Rebounding on the white stones, the windows with small squares, the gravel ground, it was stretched. The sheep did not raise the head, too absorptive to eat. This gleam lasted, if little lived little, causing regrets so much. There remains only this image about it giving to its memory the grace of eternity.
J'aime ce qui est gothique, ce qui est romantique, je vous présente mes textes et mes photos. I like what is gothic, what is romantic, I present my texts and photos Steffan Urell
