The clouds are born in the shallows,
Between the abandoned foot-hills.
They look like a fluffy Marshmallows,
And if you look up you will feel...
The bitterness of their journey,
They travel around and see us.
With rains they are flying and mourning,
They know that above them are stars.
But those who wear the black suits,
And those who wear high heels.
They never look up in the disputes,
They don’t think that skies are for real.
They see just the pavement and litter,
They see just shop windows and lights.
They never look up - it’s so bitter,
They are alone through the nights.
The clouds are born in the shallows,
Between the abandoned foot-hills.
They look like a fluffy Marshmallows,
And if you look up you will feel...
The prettiness of their journey
They travel all around the world.
Sometimes they sleep, sometimes they hurry,
They’ve got a story to be told.
Clouds
© Copyright: Мурзин Алексей Николаевич, 2021
Свидетельство о публикации №121011908082
Свидетельство о публикации №121011908082
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