Slow was I that day greeting
Perversely longing for the meeting…
Stone-heavy clouds pressing down,
Hundreds of crowds with a frown..
No dizzy spell, no pain, no snow
Could for a moment outglow
The images I conjured up
Of smiling eyes, a friends-full club!
Wine reminiscences so sweet…
I’ll share a story when we meet.
The bottle’s still untouched and cold…
The tea is brewed but centuries old…
Wiped off as dreams, an unreal fact
Is what I’d blown up and felt.
Two simple messages, two sorries
Is what life spares for wine stories…
I’ll dig down deep and nicely brood
Like brooding is of any food…
Forget, rewind and just replay
Is what another one would say.
The fabric of my image is torn,
The childish hope once more forlorn…
My world’s one empty broken glass
No one will see — drunk crowds will pass.
A vagabond of inner self
With tales that fit no shelf…
Empty evening
© Copyright: Юрий Праслов, 2009
Свидетельство о публикации №109101606551
Свидетельство о публикации №109101606551
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