Lilacs burst buds,-
Not in the spring, but on New year's eve.
Pity those tender sprouts:
Snowstorms ahead of the turn
And the zealous winds will descend,
And with a beard gray frost.
I won't make it worse,
It's already too much trouble.
The rose Bush rustles its leaves,
The buds reach for the rays,
The flowers are green in places,
Sometimes fogs at night.
& nbsp; LYUDMILA ZHURAVSKAYA
under new year...
© Copyright: Вячеслав Иннокентьевич Русаков, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120010208062
Свидетельство о публикации №120010208062
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