I tried to live from hand to mouth
However when my rain had come
The muddy tears began to flow.
I’m really can’t be alive.
My sadness slowly touches my hand
And I repeat her dying dance
So many birds are singing songs
That streaming from the ground.
When my red hair will overgrow,
So many spruces comes to die.
Black calmly crows goes to fly.
My pale hands are touching tomb.
My funeral
© Copyright: Последний Вечер, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115091700718
Свидетельство о публикации №115091700718
Рецензии