Among the noisy children and magican's shuffles
I'm taking Brodsky's book, my youthless, from shelves
I'm turning dusty pages kind of a madman,
Jugged lines are dancing, my breath's tailing off.
I can not express in words, I will tell Brodsky,
I will speak brightly, that I feel simple way.
The world has became plain for a moment,
There wans't those filth, that make my life lane.
To Brodsky
© Copyright: Игорь Синельников, 2012
Свидетельство о публикации №112071405582
Свидетельство о публикации №112071405582
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