Firsts of March,
Have switched on the cats,
In the evening,
We cut space, so bright,
and pliant…
Marching to place,
That is warm,
And some sly,
Maybe crafty…
Exhaling the light mist,
But tobacco-flavour so tasty,
With cordial bouquet of air…
Quick March!
Let's tear the night!
To the last thread,
The last thought…
Feels like this is my last spring
© Copyright: 23artworks, 2007
Свидетельство о публикации №107112700450
Свидетельство о публикации №107112700450
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