My Horse
His bridle’s tears.
I hurry him to sunrise
By that reason.
Our trouble was
In that we chose
Wrong season.
In useless search
We slide between the ways.
Before we thought
Was such of hope’s rays.
My two-wings horse became a cautious
And obstinate like other horses.
From people’s mock-feign mass he rushes,
But I don’t know in him Pegasus.
Свидетельство о публикации №109120300703
Геля Раскольников 10.10.2011 14:51 Заявить о нарушении
Геля Раскольников 12.10.2011 18:30 Заявить о нарушении