My language is poor and fool,
and now it life as a school.
That's pity, words aren't come back,
as leafs of the autumn in stack.
But don't believe me today,
if even "Fogetting" I say.
In future will be a spring:
my filling will have a swing!
=====
I'm not be a sure in love,
my lie very large and enough
speak many and only rash,
and sore in the heart is the flash.
And don't believe me again:
I dream very richest the man.
The love is the bigest, but die:
I wisper myself: " Don't cry!"
Don t believe me
© Copyright: Елена Инина, 2011
Свидетельство о публикации №111121300831
Свидетельство о публикации №111121300831
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