On the morning of the wrong memory I remember motley meadow...
Sixty four million nine hundred sixty one thousand four hundred nineteen
© Elena Shumilova
In the morning the memory of the wrong
I remember the colorful meadow
Where reigned an arrogant,
Me adored the Turkey.
Was it anger and freedom
Was his beak like a flame of scarlet,
And in my four years
Me he desperately despised.
No chocolate, no caramel,
No pineapple water
I did not know how to comfort
In the consciousness of my shame.
And again came a disaster,
And shame, and grief in childhood:
You, beloved, evil,
I proudly answer, "No."
But it all goes in the life of shaky
Will love, when longing,
And I will remember you with a smile,
As I recall Turkey.
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