Boris Red. (№ 270896)

Angels sonalis through the empty alleys
Park. We hovered stupidly beside the pond.
We were young. And now getting old.
And to think, it's forever.
If I were smarter, perhaps, taller
umutina bitter experience asshole
I would say something like: "the Posthumous, Posthumous...",
as once said Quintus Horatius Flaccus.
But not at all scary. Only very sad.
My friend, give me your hand. Look into the eyes,
you see, the world is cold and empty.
We will die with thee three hours.
In the Park where we roam. Dying roses.
It is a pity that immortality is not revealed the secret.
And dozhdinki drip like other people's tears.
I rose withered bouquet will bring...