Читать книгу The poetry of spring - C. Zueva - Страница 15

Some flowers are growing in the mountains, that bloom in summer and winter times. I’m sure, it is a lot of lonely dinosauro-prime, the them crowd, are going to the mine.

And I’m watching as tired waves, when you were listening the wind’s talk. I might have to look to your image again. I might have to together bird’s flocks’ mud.