Quiet autumn,
Weeping with rain,
Bringing such joy
In warm days again.
Russet-hued autumn,
Tattered leaves fly,
We all keep dreaming
As years pass us by.
Not of a maiden,
But wisdom so deep,
Like an old dog,
I just grumble and sleep.
Age is no pleasure,
Years flew away,
Sweet are the memories
Of how we would play.
How we once loved,
With no strength to spare,
Drinking the nectar
Of lips rich and rare.
Tender and passionate,
Giving our all,
Boldly and loudly,
Heeding love’s call.
Sweet little nothings
Whispered so low,
Wild little mischiefs
We used to know.
Youth, mad and fleeting,
Whirled like a gale,
You remain youthful,
In a photo, so pale.
Age is no pleasure
© Copyright: Святослав Соловьев, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126100705247
Свидетельство о публикации №126100705247
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