Читать книгу Русский паркур / Russian parkour - Евгений Типайлов - Страница 19

Autumn has harnessed my mood

To a wagon that’s slow and creaky.

The wheels stick in mud and get glued,

Though grey horses are pulling it meekly.

The grey days get reeled on the wheels.

I slow down as the air’s getting colder.

Only rain drops are fast in the wind.

And my thoughts are now one year older.

My illusions of Indian summer

Will remain a warm breath on my chest.

I will cherish them through the slumber

Of these dragging late autumn days.

Clouds argue and nervously spit

At our shoulders and open umbrella s.

The sun seems to give up and quit.

Leafless trees try to sing a capella.

Even mornings are rarely bright,

Looking more like their own ghosts.

As the wagon gets stuck, I alight,

And drag on in my stickjaw thoughts.