Читать книгу Philosophy of Love - В. Спейс - Страница 22

Reddish groves of larches are empty.

And the voices of birds, migrants, choir

Sings. Trees listen naked

Spring a diverse voices bird.

Carpets, faded herbs dry

Spring laid a field and meadows.

And the sky looks with puddles blue eyes

On the gray hills of haystacks.

Clear air with smoky distances

With an invigorating freshness his drunk.

And strokes cheeks with gentle palms

And behind him in the trail beckons me.

And you go by the hand with the wind,

Inhaling the delicate scent of Spring.

And the world seems even more beautiful

In a fit of a timid fairy tale Spring.