Baby, there is no smell of smog in this little city,
Smoke stacks of boiler rooms are not working.
There is a silence with old wise God in this peaty
Air in parks where you’re one on one with potting.
Opened time of impossible world is coming here
And believe in your every new step forward to it.
Baby, don’t wait for winter or summer in litter,
It’s melting around you like honey on lips of Lear.
Baby, there is no sounds of trams in this pretty city
If they run under windows on the noisy long track.
Baby, there are no cut huge alabays in this neatly
Remote worn sorrow in your own fictitious lack.
Time to believe in unusual wonder comes here
In the slippery March or in past rainy January.
Baby, don’t miss every fresh morning of sear
Dream of knowledge where this trifling city is.
City poem
© Copyright: Ксения Время, 2018
Свидетельство о публикации №118072404332
Свидетельство о публикации №118072404332
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