CITY POET Bashny.Net

Inna Yarova



Circle last
sleeping February-heir,
the coat of arms surname
the subtlety of monograms...
The average age,
mystery reserved
a strict set of round-shouldered
languid lights.

Edit zryashnoe,
dreams burning,
in the morning – ice on the eyelids
a tray of tea...
White cloud
now
flies into the former.
Honey, don't be sad.

Snow over the city
gray no end of trouble,
the full moon
reigns of sorrow.
Heart skipped a beat
stood the bell,
and filled with
the thrill of the Grail.

What I want the City?
He has long been elderly
The Emperor, Warrior,
Architect, Jester...
Oh, damn cold!
Leaves the old heap.
To sleep if...
Yes, the border here
hold – cherish.

God's Providence
in a dark room –
the jewel of cane
a lovely minuet...
Whisper timid lips.
What do You remember
I forgot You
City Poet?