Down the fluffy hill, the sun in sled is gliding,
A light mist veils the trees in soft embrace…
A February day in frames of icy grace,
On the willows, silver lace is softly spun.
And gently down the slope, gray houses’ shadows slide…
It is all one, in winter’s soft white embrace,
White smoke ascends, with subtle grayish tints above…
And the river beneath is a ribbon of blackish braid.
The pale heights of the sky merged with the mountain’s edge,
No horizon in sight — all fades into mist...
The silence above leaned over me like a kind mother,
And I gaze… and inhale the intoxicating bliss!
The sun rolls down a fluffy mountain in a sled
© Copyright: Павел Рупасов, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125031604087
Свидетельство о публикации №125031604087
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