Читать книгу Happy Note - Валентина Молодовская - Страница 11

Until the fleur-de-luce rises,

Under the snow its head,

Take chamomiles, as compromises,

Larissa, from the last year’s land.

They scent of the heat and the summer,

And it seems like for a long time,

Through winters, and winds, road numbers

Your happiness knocks at your door in a rhyme.