Lullaby

I ask, close eyes,
Do not think of what.
I will tell, how snow
Becomes a stream.

It will hasten, murmuring,
On will – from Moscow.
It will disappear immediately
Under old bridges.

And there – from hailstones:
In fields, in woods and in a distance,
There, where do not live
Neither a grief, nor grief.

And I, as those snow,
To run for a long time I want.
Also I conceal each time.
And in vain I murmur.

But you have caught me –
In a handful has concealed,
Vljubil also has caressed.
To run?! There will be no forces …

02.07.

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Awfully it was pleasant to 31.05.2007 21:14 Me. Such beautiful, air, warm poem. It even is more heard, how "a lullaby for the woman". For the simple girl for whom the love costs above all the rest. A good verse!
Ksjusha Gunka (Gunja)