The wormwood smell ...
The chamomile stings ...
The dew is not a drop.
At the top of the coin
The sun froze.
Crickets in the wild.
The soul laughs -
Whom we love,
Those are again with us.
Those are next to me again.
Their voices
Singing is gratifying
Meadows and sky ...
Others do not.
© Copyright: EL Sokolova, 30.04.18
Short May