It was November, cold and snowy.
The life was turning pages slowly.
Last turned without you, my friend:
You left, and that no one may mend.
Now life is hastening its paces.
Around me — none, but empty faces.
I'm feeling lonely, friend of my.
Farewell... or... maybe... long goodbye...?
On Death of a Friend
© Copyright: Александр Октябрьский, 2019
Свидетельство о публикации №119011009140
Свидетельство о публикации №119011009140
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