The dreams could not agree
with their demise and funerals,
but counting ‘one, two, three’
Life exhausted its simple numerals.
And in the ragged world,
no longer ‘black and white’,
the Love grew pale-old,
and ‘wrong’ became ‘right’.
But what a magical tree
we had, a tree of bell flowers.
How blue it was and how free!
And Love - it was all ours,
while counting ‘one, two, three’,
ignoring clouds and showers.
The dreams could not agree...
© Copyright: Борис Старосельский, 2002
Свидетельство о публикации №102123000260
Свидетельство о публикации №102123000260
Рецензии