SelfPub: Angels

And you wouldn't believe, but the angels also work
Come in the evening, sometimes, tiring.
And they bore any worldly concerns -
Try to be alert and cheerful all day otletov...
And believe it or not, angels wings removed,
Go /well, I guess where?/ straight from the shower,
Dust and dirt carefully with a sponge wash,
Trying /in vain/ to clear the fatigue from a shower...
And you wouldn't believe, but the angels, having put the kettle on,
Sit in the kitchen and, in silence, staring out the window.
And I think - in the morning I Wake up, wings spreading,
Go-fly to work its all the same...
And you will not believe, but the angels cry at night
Remembering some /nursery? a grown-up?/ death.
So much of these tears of pain, sorrow, flammable,
That could not help, not having to fly...