The spring is always finds the words to say
And time is not about running fast.
Us long us we are keeping inner joy to stay,
We bring to life the happiness to last.
Pure wind wakes up the birds to fly,
And takes away our heart on wings above
The cities so beautiful like endless sky,
Near them a heaven no longer charms enough.
Who say the first about weasel love,
For him the spring is typing song,
And when we are taking breath from blooming clove,
We start to feel is nothing wrong.
(c)Julia Bruslavskaia, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117041209430
Виктор Боковой4 12.04.2017 20:07 Заявить о нарушении
Юлия Бруславская 12.04.2017 20:09 Заявить о нарушении