Wind plays with willows branches at the lake water.
They rock from airy touches without any tone.
And everything is calm. The coming autumn
indulges the town with the soft returning warmth.
The sun is hugging the small empty chapel
with rays and its gold-coated slightly prolate dome
is sparkling, blinding eyes. The place looks magic,
like it's located somewhere on a far wild lawn.
And water lilies, growing at the bank line,
are odd for the small town. Their petals sop
the honey light, becoming even better,
like they are made from immaterial gauze cloth.
Wind plays with willows branches at the lake water.
They rock from airy touches without any tone.
And everything is calm. The coming autumn
indulges the town with the soft returning warmth.
by Thea Ariss
22.09.2026
The song of the day: Город 312 - Вне зоны доступа
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© Copyright: Тея Арис, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126092208193
Свидетельство о публикации №126092208193
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