Slowly, gently you talk to me, Autumn.
But I’m a winter child, I’m not your daughter.
I can withstand your dreary tedious talks.
I’m always dressed in firs, not fancy coloured frocks.
And yet you talk to me. Try to persuade
To trust you with my sparkling summer conquests.
I’m not a fool. This bill has been already paid.
It’s no use to take my words out of their contexts.
You talk to me. I listen, keeping silence.
You splash at me your colours all at once.
But I resist. I know how your sweet talk beguiles us.
Just several weeks and my salvation comes.
Assaulted by Autumn
© Copyright: Нина Вольга, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123060706779
Свидетельство о публикации №123060706779
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