I like to hear the oak-woods singing
Or speaking calmly with the autumn winds.
With their bright gown down they’re willing
To stay as plain and true as wizards.
Led by a higher power
I reach the dome of the highest blue
And standing beneath the bells
I hear the first ring that’s so new.
Then comes the second, then the third.
The far sky’s calling me to go.
The autumn Sun’s already turned
Into an ultramarine bow.
I drink this grief left after you
Down from my clear mountain spring
Like a wine not young nor new
Of late September overripen.
I drink it at the restless nights
And in the early morning lights.
Red-berried and blood-leaked
We buried everything we’d lived.
But I will leave it to the winds
To rustle, dispel, blow away.
With mighty branches’ embraces
To never have it in my way.
I liek to hear the oak woods singing
© Copyright: Родионов Владимир Иванович, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №113022803796
Свидетельство о публикации №113022803796
Рецензии