A rain at the left, and a fog on the right.
Black pines goes off their mind.
At the left – corpses of birches white,
And rails run under slope on the right.
A darkness swashes at the left in bogs.
On the right – small houses and their dogs.
At the left – the West, on the right – the East,
Stream of coaches, and knocks of wheels,.
In the morning – glad, in the evening – sad.
I'll never anywhere come back.
The Train
© Copyright: Владимир Немерцалов, 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105061300296
Свидетельство о публикации №105061300296
Рецензии
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