style="font-size:15px;"> A gray crown, freezing’s birds.
Crown of trees covered frost.
Will warm, when spring comes.
The call sign with the name Romantic
The girl with beautiful eyes.
Looks from the depths of worlds.
Searches in the of a call sign at night,
Ray of his at the name Romantic.
There in the conglomerates, the placers of galaxies,
Where is this Earth there?
A call sign named Romantic,
Radio wave bears call…
He lives there with blue eyes,
What looks to the height with hope?
In search of a constellation, in the evenings,
Sends you Earthly silence.
The smell of honey herbs spring,
Light wind – kiss,
The leaves of the Earth’s forests in autumn,
And a wreath of rainy summer jets.
Olessya
Like a rare fairy tale, “Olessya!”
Sounds above the river, “Olessya!”
And in the sounds of the mysterious forest
I hear the name, Olessya.
In the singing brook is given.
And a song pours over the lake.
Over green grass and foliage:
“… Stay, stay with me…”
“… Olessya, Olessya, Olessya,
You look like violets of the forest …”
A bottomless resinous river
Hair waterfall veil
Falls on girlish shoulders,
Coquettish bang splashes
And covers his forehead with him.
“… Stay, stay with me…”
I hear in the sounds of spring
And the birds are spread by singing:
“… Olessya, Olessya, Olessya.
Like a fairy tale, like a miracle, like a song …”
To climb a frosty strand
A frosty strand
Early Autumn gray.
Memories, lake surface,
Spring comes up to me.
I look into her blue eyes
On a colorful wreath of hair.
Nightingales see nights
Among the interwoven heavy braids.
And whitens frosty strand
Memory of the night, farewell to that.
Floating above the dark surface
In the hair, gray strands.
Paradise
I love those drunk nights,
What is inhale with the aroma of silence.
And the grass in the meadows is thick,
And on the lake reeds.
Everything is familiar in the home side,
There the singing spring is noisy.
Then you went down the path
The look me, as now, beckons.
I forget you, you know, not in power,
Blue eyed tale me.
And the glade that I often see
There in our birch paradise.
I would forget this garden spring,
What do you remember with your color?
The roar of bees, the aroma of healing,
And your sparkling look.
I would forget this first autumn,
What broke my love.
Only memory has become gray,
I recognize you and myself in it paradise.
In a fit of a timid fairy tale Spring
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
