To Kislovodsk all the roads go -
And there's nothing at all beyond.
The air, the mountains, even the pond -
Tranquillity they bestow
On those sick souls corrupted by pride
Of being a Muscovite.
They walk it's vast valleys,
In groves they hide,
It sends them a warm invite.
It welcomes them on with a soft sunny hug
They flock and keep honking along,
They crowd the Gallery, fill their mugs,
Hoping to right the wrongs
Of living in hectic and hustling hell
In the City of Golden domes,
They hope to get better, get healthy, get well -
But they can't take tranquillity home.
January, 2023
To kislovodsk
© Copyright: Нина Вольга, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125012405509
Свидетельство о публикации №125012405509
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