Don’t confuse me, sons; I cling
Days of ends and girls of spring.
Can you see my scary breath?
I am your angel. I am your death.
And I know it's near scraping.
And my death rests on those cots.
There are holes on my head gaping
Sadness, bald patches, and bald spots.
And if life is drawn
That will soon be gone
Not a falcon or knots.
Means death is blots.
Means sadness was.
А. И. Введенский. Потец отрывок
© Copyright: Виталий Кармагус, 2025
Свидетельство о публикации №125121607760
Свидетельство о публикации №125121607760
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