The smell of night is soft and lazy,
and full of languor to the Moon.
Surroundings become so hazy
that thinking comes: they’ll vanish soon.
Instead of curs with fretful yapping,
instead of someone’s loud cry,
instead of crows in tossing flapping,
there’ll be another sunrise try,-
another sunrise try to show
solemnity of day installed,
just in a seat in first-line row
to shine as miracle for all.
***
© Copyright: Серж Северодвинский, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111072706703
Свидетельство о публикации №111072706703
Рецензии