Soon we will hide inside, escaping our daily run,
lying down by our cats or dogs,
worshiping our false or true gods
Covering ourselves by the blankets not the sun,
Drinking wine by the fireplace
Not under the skies of our holly place,
And leaves like a dreams are flying away...
Another coffin passed by,
Soon it will be covered by ice,
We hear delusion, hate, and horror,
Every time when the showman , like snowman
Is making “America great again”.
American Autumn
© Copyright: Регина Арден, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120101700991
Свидетельство о публикации №120101700991
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