By the sea, where the waves are – made of foamy laces,
Where a town-bound carriage happens once in an age,
Played the Queen in a turret, her sonata was racing –
Full of Chopin and magic. Fell in love a young page.
So simple the story, so dainty and fair:
Bade the Queen that they slice a… pomegranate in two;
She extended his share, and she tortured and snared,
And she fell for his air, for the magical tunes.
She surrendered but stormy – her caresses and treasures,
Slept this mistress majestic until dawn like a slave…
By the sea, where the waves are... full of foaming azure,
Played the page’s sonata and the foaming waves.
poem by Igor Severyanin
By the Sea... Это было у моря
© Copyright: Маленький Принц, 2017
Свидетельство о публикации №117030900466
Свидетельство о публикации №117030900466
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