Читать книгу Unquenchable thirst of love… - Михаил Годов - Страница 20

Each thing's subject to rhythm returning

The clothes, tune and poet's lines

If not for them, much harder could be life

Like that of warrior with no tunic

The bottle of wine and the ale barrel

You cannot fill beyond the brim,

By winter fall the leaves of sallow

And even Edem's too small for Eve

Now all the heirs of Procrustes

Would like to put me in the pencil case

My bones they're breaking, very crusty

But only soul they cannot chase.

It is like aeon, all embracing

But with no love it has no basing!