Every time I look out the window
I see foreign flowers, foreign rain.
My motherland is left a mourning widow.
I had no vivid feelings for terrain.
Send me a poster, sign it "love".
Throw palms of yours inside a casket.
The package neatly tie to a black dove,
leave dirty laundry be inside the basket.
The Land of Snow! Sincerely from beyond.
I really couldn't be a whisker different.
Nightly so. Part II
© Copyright: Артем Хабипов, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115042500661
Свидетельство о публикации №115042500661
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