THAT MORNING’S BEAUTY    Tamely and softly walks the morning Over the blades of endlessly green grass. It left the night and me scorning the sorrow which will never pass.   It was the dweller beyond the colour, for years and centuries forgotten,  frozen in the lakes, dark and polar, but suddenly in your eyes … Настави са читањем Have I ever passed you by? Have you waited ever since? (Nevenka Balanesković)