It is black evening dull
Trees are hiding the scull
Of their's love - autumn.
Leaves like cotton
But dying.
I'm not a bird. I can't fly
Through the dreams.
And trees are covering
Of the sun rays.
My sadly days
Are ending.
You are hearing
Autumn shaded lullaby
Of dying souls.
Our bodies stolen by stones.
The Fall
© Copyright: Последний Вечер, 2015
Свидетельство о публикации №115091700643
Свидетельство о публикации №115091700643
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