The air tastes like it was just cooked
By chef who masters his kitchen well.
Or may be it was – you are being hooked
The way you won’t be able to tell
Herds of trees running down the slopes
Hang on the edge for the morning prayer
The pines hold on with all their hopes
And touch the strings of ascending air
The ravens hear this music well
Circling around and singing along
Of course they would – for here they dwell
And no other place they will belong
Go down to the bottom – the paths occur
No matter that you might get a bruise
The stream of water will offer cure
With every drop of sweet mountain juice
You want to stretch on the rocky bed.
This blessed day is like no other.
And all the words that swirl in your head
Have turned into “forgive” and “mother”...
Mother Nature -in the mountains-
© Copyright: Базилевич Олег, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110021704557
Свидетельство о публикации №110021704557
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