I look at a lonely fading it flower.
He drank all the water and will soon the flour.
This sammer went by was this is ower.
August subsided and days getting slover.
Do you hear the wind?
He tries to make rhythms.
He wants to sing,
About flower withers.
I understand that I think you in vain.
I know you dont call again.
This is a flower has now made that plain.
This is how blues is born when is love ends.
August blues
© Copyright: Владимир Торопченко, 2023
Свидетельство о публикации №123082206901
Свидетельство о публикации №123082206901
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