You know, angels also tired.
When they back home, and put her wings on hook.
And in this case, you can’t with they admired,
Without wings, they loose his magic look.
Without wings they cooking on the kitchen,
They washing off all dirty pans of fry.
Without wings they not to be a children’s,
The own angel’s evening to be my.
In morning start, they dressing wings for flying,
And they forgot, what happen with last night.
While day goes on, they angels, no crying,
And they had look to us and make us to incite.
33
© Copyright: Илья Кошелев, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109091801929
Свидетельство о публикации №109091801929
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