Autumn
Posvjashchaetsja T.S.
Autumn damp lips
Touches me
Day autumn it is sweet gauging,
Whisper leaves in height.
The wood a transparent breast breathes
Air is pure and weightless
The sun floats on a dish
The gilt yoke.
Birds recent singing
The silence fills,
As in a window, in a fog early
The moon waves a glove.
Carries a wind of daws of flight
Between woody coast,
The field was weaved by crosses
Turquoise knapweeds.
The wave, as in heart beats a stone,
Cuts soul long a knife,
Golden carpets
Spreads a wind grain fields.
Your lips will dream,
Taste of a crimson dawn
The gilt pipes-
The pine harmonous ships.
10.01.01
Autumn..
© Copyright: Grachev Lv, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103030200069
Свидетельство о публикации №103030200069
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