Morning.
People are sleeping
On the walk. The sky’s weeping
With the dull rain.
Disdain.
Early.
Everyone’s thinking
Of returning and sinking
In the warm bed.
Too bad.
Rudely.
The crowd’s roughly pushing,
Regretting the cushions
They left at home.
Alone.
Autumn.
The blessed goddamned season
That gives them no reason
To happily live.
Then give.
Person.
Amidst the street standing,
Without complaining,
Just stares to the sky.
But why?
Patient.
His face to the ceiling
Of the world, revealing
His will to the life.
For life.
Watching.
The clue.
Навеяно: http://vkontakte.ru/note30222501_10056560
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