On the cosmic vessel,
So big, comparing with a man,
And so small, if observed in the Universe,
In a thin film between the sky and the earth,
The tiny creatures, called the people,
Are crawling and digging up a soil,
Jumping like flea,
Making sex every minute,
And unbrokenly dying, dying, dying...
They are obsessed by an idea,
Imaging that they are great,
Very clever and powerful.
But, in fact, they with their armies,
Schools and universities are only dust,
Recently collected by Almighty God,
Who had still no time to determine their fate.
Alas! When a horrible nuclear wind arrives
From the indifferent Cosmos,
This dust should be burned out like a box of matches.
Who knows how many civilizations
Have been burned out already?
Probable end
© Copyright: Денисов Д.А., 2005
Свидетельство о публикации №105062501001
Свидетельство о публикации №105062501001
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