My socks is black like pitch.
My eyes is red, because you sad.
What if I told you that I'm rich?
In reality I'm poor and it's so bad...
There is no time like the present.
It's very great tide in the hole.
But in this hole a good weather.
Sweety, you are conquered my soul.
(31 октября. 2016)
Poor Poetry
© Copyright: Евгений Мачульский, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117102806834
Свидетельство о публикации №117102806834
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