I've planted here my Edem,
Protected it with a high fence;
Towards the air blue and land
My mother has come for son by chance.
"My son, where are you, dear? Where?"
The silence is all around.
The sun is ripe above the fence
And warms the Edem's wine.
And carefully she is going
Around all my gardens, oaths.
"Where are you, son?" - Again she calls,
Trying not to destroy my flowers.
It's quiet. Does she really know,
That heart is ripe the fence behind?
That former joy
Я насадил свой светлый рай... -пер. А. Блока
© Copyright: Людмила 31, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111051302432
Свидетельство о публикации №111051302432
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is casted out
For those drunken of the Edem's wine.
Людмила 31 01.10.2011 14:27 • Заявить о нарушении
For those drunken of the Edem's wine.
Людмила 31 01.10.2011 14:27 • Заявить о нарушении