Enter in this little room
V-iolets and pinks are blooming, roses are ill,
G-uilty they don”t fill, roses are ill…
E-very day they wither up, looking at the street,
N-eat garden which they see – it is what they need…
I-n this garden they”ll be good with tender breath of wind.
A-nd every day, and every night they dream about it.
(1999г)
Свидетельство о публикации №110022208927