Firing opening thunder,
Clouds as spaceships flashed by,
“Home, we're home, what a wonder”, –
Cranes cried to sun from up high.
World into tenure's divided,
Nests of the birds all around,
Greens once again have provided,
Woods to hide huts on the ground.
Glee of the birth in the sprouts,
Whispers or cries in the boughs,
Touches the strings, on the mounds,
Stretching the lyre, a grouse.
Everywhere sounds are calling:
Fiddles and flutes songs partook,
Primulas into hands falling,
And morel’s got gnome-like look.
All, who by spring's in a muddle,
Tidied by rainstorm has been,
On a cowslip in a puddle,
Skimmer shines as a breastpin.
After the first rainstorm
© Copyright: Александр Нагний, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125061306842
Свидетельство о публикации №125061306842
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