The spring, the spring, the time for love
Your appearance's to me so hard
And what the languid excitement i have
In my soul, in my blood.
How foreign is joy to my heart
All that exults and glitters
Makes bored and longing much
Give me a blizzard of the winters
And give me darkness of long nights.
Pushkin. A.
***
© Copyright: Руслан Арсененков, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120031309636
Свидетельство о публикации №120031309636
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