Fall has come here and there
With the gold and the mess.
Poplars were almost bare
From the wind on the earth.
They aren't idols of stones,
Though they are strong and tall.
They have lost their crowns,
But have reigned over fall.
I will stretch by my hands,
I will look from above.
How I need this one range,
Poplars' height, nature's love!
Need disarable eyes,
Need disarable words,
And the emerald' grass,
And eruption of worlds.
See the enemy face,
Hear the whispering friend,
And without the chains
Fly to high Poplarland.
Poplars
© Copyright: Юрий Розвадовский, 2008
Свидетельство о публикации №108011200592
Свидетельство о публикации №108011200592
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