Again, the Saint Petersburg speaks to me through its fade:
He knows my own purpose — and counted all what was paid,
He heals me when I am so tired and extremely weak,
He watches me from windows, from lamps and from every creek,
He carries his gifts for the darkness of alleys, lines,
The night wind besieges his yards, and confirm his lies,
His whisper from inners makes numb and distract my breath.
He, too, as I have - seen the life.
And he seen the death.
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Данное произведение является художественным авторским переводом стихотворения "Дворы"
http://stihi.ru/2020/11/11/1358
The yards
© Copyright: Май Вихрев, 2025
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Свидетельство о публикации №125061805437
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