Berries in the air
That are made of blood-red matter,
When the world looks clear
And our dreams don't matter.
We dance, we take these berries
As a hint,
We see the world
As a polygon
For a celestial fleet.
Red berries
And dreams of childhood.
No one knows how to act
But somehow we should.
Berries in the air
© Copyright: Марина Чиянова, 2022
Свидетельство о публикации №122071103011
Свидетельство о публикации №122071103011
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