~ перевод "Травы"
I love the look of unruly grass,
I love the scent of the newly mown;
I love grass eaters and—alas—
I also love them roasted (moan).
I fancy hay; on my settee
I'd lay an armful — such a charm.
Consider putting thyme in tea;
Applying yarrow? There's no harm.
The grass bends low, its head inclined,
Vanquished by the lightest touch...
And in the Book of Life, you'll find
A withered bookmark—nothing much.
Grass
© Copyright: Вячеслав Вьяса Киреев, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126042302683
Свидетельство о публикации №126042302683
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