The Morning

A day is slowly-slowly breaking
Behind a frosty window.
A fluffy winter is gently lacing
An icy, bluish, phantastic kingdom.

The morning turns a little greyer -
The sky,the snow and silver shadows.
No howling of the wind in prairy.
The storm is over - only silent
                "feathers".

The heavens whiten,blackens ground.
A birch awakens feeling, dear,
The nature will revive and swing
                around.
You should believe - the spring is
                closely near.

авторский перевод стихов "Синее утро"


Рецензии