Once a russian the poet was say
“she make bother me with her vulgare filth everytime”.
She say this about her little daughter.
The child was ever hungry weak and withered.
A bit late the child dead.
But she love her son, and in the girl she don’t discern a hit spirit as he have.
When the little girl dead her mother writ a verses
About her blue semi transparenten hands.
Well any meet stranger make bother me with them a vulgar filth
Just only by them view.
But you aren’t a grand poet for make such kinda claims.
So right, but they me make bother anyway.
It’s maybe her son was as a princ,
Though the chine language he don’t know he mixed a omophons in him translate.
The tale about reach to a perfect, so seemed.
I so suspection, if you please, it’s about something another.
About no love
© Copyright: Елена Гаврилова 7, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126052105749
Свидетельство о публикации №126052105749
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