Garnishing the trees
And scorning all the fables,
You hit your little fists
And break that little table.
Some say it's nonsense,
Some scream it can't be.
You passed adolescence
Into the age of glee,
When nothing is spontaneous,
You cannot tell the difference
Between all little lies.
You catch oblivious butterflies
And with their little bodies,
You garnish all the trees
And scorn all little lies.
Some say it's nonsense,
Some scream it can't be,
Their faces turning white
And eyes becoming widened
As you are passing by
With scissors razor-sharpened.
You're always welcomed,
You're always loved,
They garnish for you trees
And making up the fables,
They cover their heads
And prey...
The never forgiving one
© Copyright: Яна Физалова, 2014
Свидетельство о публикации №114041310451
Свидетельство о публикации №114041310451
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