I’m so tired of the crowd,
All its shadows have dispersed.
All is blurred on the background,
I’m not willing to converse.
How come people got unhappy,
Full of envy and malign?
They‘re completely lost for lack of
Blooming vistas of their lives.
They’re condemned to scrape a living,
But the rich eat to excess.
Their existence has no meaning -
It‘s been poisoned with regress.
Someone’s grass is always greener,
One can see a cage of gold.
Every man should remain genial,
Irrespective of the cold.
Poor people
© Copyright: Рита Данилевская, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120030203323
Свидетельство о публикации №120030203323
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