ABOUT, Poor Homo Sapiens,
being – oppression.
Years gone by the belt
One such shut up.
All lived in Dry and starvation,
In the fight against Harden,
And no one touched,
What is the miracle of life – with time.
With those hands dug lilies,
Those eyes breathe,
From night to night loiter,
Gorm burning soul.
One of southern shacks
It was the other farther south.
and benefits, as a stepson,
The grass at the feet of her.
dried canvas. catches
Even today the breast
The fence in the night beauty,
At least a year and behind.
He has so unforgettable,
What dust swell,
Wind Luskan seeds,
Littered on mugs.
What a strange mallow
conducted, like the blind, me,
That I begged you
Each fence.
I came down and became casts
The new oil pools,
Run the groves Rakitova,
Where I had sent the letter.
My train had just moved,
another Station, Moscow,
Danced in rings, in cones
according to the embankment, by rvam,
And humming Kobza
wells, and pylyas,
script, They fought on the ground
Mow and poplar.
Let life communication port,
Let the pride of the mind harm,
But we may die with stuffiness
Those wanted in the chest.
