The smell of extinguished fires
Smoke floating above the water;
Bitterness of forgotten dreams
Voice calling in the night
The pain of unrequited love
Flour, and the heart melts.
Nightingales are crazy
In the warmth. It's getting light
And over the meadow fog
Torn shreds floated.
I knew: love is a lie!
And still loved
I will stay this fall
I will dissolve in the hazy mist
Not so long I have left
Roam Mother Earth
Dew cold wash my
Fog unsteady will turn,
In a damp, thorny stack I bury,
I will wander through the coalescence
Hairy stubble does not cut
Feet of bare, frozen feet,
And drizzling rain slizhet
Footprints from all my roads
Swirling in mist, I will lie down in my shack,
I crawl along the gully
And getting lost in the ravines,
Sunrise evaporate.
I stayed this fall
I am dissolved in a gray mist,
Not so long I wandered
For mortal mother Earth
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And Cho, not bad, it's okay, like in autumn.
The rare word "sogra". I even googled, having doubted my knowledge. No, that's right - swamp forest.
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in Siberian villages, sogra is a favorite place for boy games at any time of the year, but best of all in early spring when it is flooded with water
Autumn, I was born in mid-October, as they say: I was born on a rainy autumn day, as I remember, Nurse, at home, it was not)))
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beautiful poem
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