Opened windows cause her coughs. Dreaming nothing, feeling low.
Failed thoughts, retried words. Stop on green. I cannot go
By my way. I’m going to turn. I’m to leave as it is mine.
Play my songs for dear world. I will hear them all sometime.
I have written them for you. I’ll be gone away right now.
I will pick the amber honey. There’s neither winter nor its howl.
I said I would find you and bring that honey for you there.
You will smile. I know the pain will leave you as it’s driven out.
Don’t be afraid, don’t care of me. I’m not weeping, I'm feeling great.
I’m a rime, so frail, so crumbly.
It’s the warmth just melting me...
Rime
© Copyright: Георгий Михайлович Яшин, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103101001264
Свидетельство о публикации №103101001264
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