by Nicolay Rubtsoff
The water is thick as a glass.
And like an arrow, a faster pike
Pierces the water tidiness,.
And where in its heart a light.
Oh, view, my native and tranquil,
A temple of God in ancient dream
With birches, huts on known hills
Reflected on the hill as cream.
Oh, Russ’ – the great astrologer!
As stars can be untouched from sky,
The century will flow just
Without touching this fine sight.
As if this ancient nature rime
Imprinted always true once more
All harmony of ancient times
In soul, which all senses stores.
The Soul Keeps Душа хранит
© Copyright: Георгий Задворнов, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125041801635
Свидетельство о публикации №125041801635
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