Warm cotton snow
Harbors our souls,
So they don't catch cold
In an angry windy cold.
It's hard for me to get through to you
You're like a Northern rock,
You're frozen like a fish
Your heart is broken
A sharp dead icicle,
But you're comfortable with her
To live and not to torment the soul!
Melt your ice
I still, of course, in force!
But thinking soberly at night,
Why should I care?
We are waiting for a fabulous miracle,
But we know in advance,
The new year will deceive again...
Christmas will lie again...
New-year
© Copyright: Вячеслав Иннокентьевич Русаков, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120010208071
Свидетельство о публикации №120010208071
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