Anna Kudasheva. Autumn on the contrary (№ 345241)

The trees are still green,
But cold as winter.
And the souls of humble-humble
Covered with dry leaves.
The motion is not ripe
Wrapped in a hundred layers
And wait, when you become Mature
And Express can.
But the sun in the soul does not sleep
And knows the secret code:
For those who are willing to be brave
It's the opposite.