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Frosted reflection in the mirror,
Hands and face, pale gray in anguish,
This is a matte lady, in front of a mirror,
In the evening, all tired in tenderness,
She pressed her hands to her chest,
Only her shoulders shone white,
and her breasts bulged at the neckline,
Dresses, it's made of sea scales,
She bowed her face like a fish,
And a flaming face, in curls of hair,
Such a tense look, accelerated,
Heartbeats, and in my thoughts to move away,
And go back to the past of youth,
I took a deep and gentle sigh,
Not on the banister of the stairs, and moved down,
It's stuffy, and there's only a rustle on the stairs,
Exquisite, her footprints sank silently,
And in the evening, the red glow of heaven,
The clouds are aflame with shame,
The clouds of her love, and the evening is near,
They feel the heavens weakly, the darkness,
And the voices of the angels are rushing down,
Gently and subtly, exciting the nerves,
A lady with tired epiphany, experienced,
The depth of the news, before the dark night,
In a sweet deception, she was covered,
The sheer excitement that she had fallen,
Prostrated in worship, she froze sadly,
Only her lips whisper a prayer for salvation,
The skies have darkened, and shadows scurry behind,
Only occasionally a ray of light drives them,
She was silent in her thoughts, mute,
And looked up at the extinguished heavens,
Maybe the angels and God will help,
To fall in love, not for the first time,
Without worries, comprehending them all-seeing,
The eye, it looks innocently from heaven,
And the elegant lady faded in the evening,
Her head was spinning, in the penumbra,
She put her hand on the railing, and up,
She walked up the stairs, slowly with her feet,
She glided, her whole body trembled softly,
I was standing at the top, waiting for a meeting,
She swayed and fell into my arms...
1 минута
2 дня назад