And our firsts will be our lasts.
Don't see another way of order.
When we are lost-towards the past
We rush to cross the border
That we got used to cross,
And even blinded we find a way
To get into this tempting fosse
That holds us with its gravity,
But we are able to break free
And newly shaped we are recovered.
Some thing has changed, so you can feel
That memories are for a bit uncolored
And there's no powder that can save
The vivid gamma of your clothes.
Washing-machine for that is made
To break the dirt, to get rid of
What’s littered, so it's clean,
From rubbish, stains and fat,
So you could wear and see
That you are fresh and net,
But everyone does have a cloth
That'll never be forgotten in a closet,
So you will wear it now and forth;
Although it doesn't fit, you'll force it.
My blue jacket
© Copyright: Александр Снитко 2, 2016
Свидетельство о публикации №116100809489
Свидетельство о публикации №116100809489
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