Even through the glass package
I hear the surf. Parquet
Does not creak under my feet.
On the strings of the soul was doing scales
Autumn solfege.
Buenos noches, my friend Sergio.
In Ordzhonikidze career
Did you career
And he was like autumn
Your Audi А eight. "
Drunken hawk
Circled around and around,
Like everywhere in time,
No one was hurt,
Slip between the drops
To comfort those who are with the nozzle.
With protruding from his pocket a press money
Treated as long as he could,
And suddenly disappeared,
Perhaps tired
And perhaps disappeared,
This land left,
Where, even through the glass package
Hear the creaking parquet.
4.11.10. Almond Grove.
On the strings of the soul was doing scales
© Copyright: Игаль Иерусалимский, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110112105074
Свидетельство о публикации №110112105074
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