The linden trees are bare,
The maples blackened so;
The winds are softly weeping,
And the rains fiercely grow.
Across the plains so bleak,
Veiled in a somber gray,
The viburnum warmly glows,
Chasing the cold away.
The cabbage row glows bright
A joy amidst the frost
In autumn's bitter strands
All warmth and light are lost
late autumn
© Copyright: Павел Рупасов, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125031504512
Свидетельство о публикации №125031504512
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