| Захарова | Дата: Суббота, 28.03.2015, 16:28 | Сообщение # 1 |
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| My daughter is butterfly,
Butterfly the Princess,
Overcoming the gravity force,
Hovering in the air,
She fights with gusty wind;
Suddenly
She lands beside,
Folding the wings
And seems to die.
We sit for a long time.
We are silent. Nice!
Below us, in the black ground,
Worms are crawling to the bodies.
Everywhere around us
Are slowly dying people,
Descended from Bosch's paintings.
They look closely under their feet
In search of the door to immortality.
They need it.
And we
Just sit and breathe,
We glad to see the stars
That filled the empty bowl of night
To the edge.
Daughter of mine!
A Crescent moon has already risen to the sky,
It's time for us to fly over
Thy Kingdom of eternity.
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