I am one from the wretched, from stale dough, from squalor, while you
Only recently deeply involved in this carnal slurry:
You keep floundering, stumbling and holding on warmth of life, but
Now your ship - at the bottom, and they’re dragging you from lifeboat.
All ahead - obscure light and a figure in filthy shroud:
Dirt is born there exactly. And that which fears dirt - in crowd.
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Данное произведение является художественным авторским переводом стихотворения "Грязь"
http://stihi.ru/2019/12/26/1846
The dirt
© Copyright: Май Вихрев, 2025
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Свидетельство о публикации №125061804235
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