leaves [Theme] Page 6

This fall is sharper and brighter than the other:
So many different stories, events and individuals.
And the headphones pours a familiar tune
About broken branches lost the sheet.
Warm the soul traces of the meetings,
And hope for a new, warm warmer.
I have the memory of this delight to keep
So he pokes and stop time.

Trees, just for you
And your eye for beautiful,
I live in the world for the first time
You and your lovely looking.
I often think - God
His living, paint brush
My heart has learned
And put them on your sheets.
And if I was close to you,
Some light on the personality,
It is also easy grass,
Foliage and heights of the strangeness.

Autumn writes
As an artist,
Autumn brushes
Autumn rain
Autumn writes Krasnolesye -
Gentrify rageclaw.
Brush, branches - a host of identities,
The hosts of equalities
But under the skin -
Centerstate,
Silver
And the ribbing of the clouds.
All the dawns of autumn,
Autumn shutters
Autumn - canopy,
If not her singing Yesenin,
Breaking away from the field?
Autumn, danke,
How finely!
Month to month - the stairs.
Autumn apples-patency
On the sleepy earth.
Autumn in persons
Autumn leaves
Autumn birds
Waving his brush,
Girly exhausted,
In lysyche hiding the tail.
Autumn in some hysteria -
Gold
Evil
Thoughts.
Summer carry,
Autumn build
Autumn.
Painting.
The platform.
We are with you in it as paint
Spread.
We blots.
We are transparent,
Multivalued,
We ink from the lashes.
It is quiet.
It hurts.
And above us autumn cry baby.
Us autumn,
Us autumn...
Sleep, love, sleep.

Fall I, girl, older,
Disassemble fingers suspendet branches
A tenacious heart listening to the rain sadness.
Fall I, girl, I feel sharper.
The wind stroked tenderly framing side
And flies over the rooftops singing cavnic.
In the fall I believe that next to God.
In the fall I mixed with flights of birds.
Think a moment - and all will disappear,
Bud, will otmazatsya, will fly out of the mouth,
Showers will spread, lose the axle.
In the fall I girl, be quiet.

I can't sleep. And the world - hand
Walk, walk until I can not sleep,
Until weed autumn umbrella
And will not cover your leaves.

She uninvited, the unexpected came,
talked loud and smoked a cigarette,
and I thought: "how good
as clearly smells of August and autumn".
But I was stupid, I saw her as the span
moment - because tomorrow I'll forget
it takes everything, and the woman will be
a bouquet of withered forget-me-nots.
Then, you'd think would be on top,
he wrote poetry, but as in favor.
It to the seven fled to the concert
the whole turning into the rush and movement.
Did not come back. In March, September
didn't come back! I was korisa: "son of a...!"
Now would fall on his knees in front of her
and madly kissed her hand.
Now would be crying, "honey, I'm sorry!"
and was not ashamed of tears would be, not ashamed!
But it all goes away. Autumn ahead.
No one just leaves, leaves, leaves...

Autumn is the axis of reason tottered,
at eight you are going to fall leaves,
this evening will be cool,
will give the mysteries of the St. Petersburg front:
as a man from the North hardened
brought powerless lighter
to black the tired faces,
as flew from his lips pollen,
turning into a bird on the fly
poetry and zhuravlinoe minutes.
Autumn will throw in a curve of the road puddles
the world will become the mirror. Will need
to understand something in the reflections
not to be left again.
To in the dark the Petersburg front,
stubbornly flicking a lighter
night lighting, like floor lamp -
burn all the leaves on your soul.

Flattened foot,
it was different beautiful,
a piece of faded...

Ah, for whom woven
Luxurious brocade of crimson leaves?
Fog and autumn
Concealed from the eyes
All the slopes!

Dry, yellow leaves,
The precursors of the pores sad
You Luba I!.. My dreams
Accustomed to the Duma funeral,
Made friends with the idea unearthly;
And there is a kinship, kinship Holy
Between all longing and me
Indelible fatal
The stigma of the old days of the soul!..

This evening
even the leaves on the tree
rustling too.

Hovers, hovers a quill wedge
behind the cloud of geese groan.
Burning autumn maple,
ash leaves will become.
Winds old orchard purged
he's leaving in the summer..
And the new leaves will come,
coming for those next.

Love the autumn Moscow
in her bright attire,
when the morning, burning leaves,
fallen under the wind.
Huge slow fire
over the leafless garden
similar to Lancet Church
with the charred facade.
And the old maple completely wilted,
is sad gorbas...
I think its from them
its leaves pride.
Well, so what, so what,
that crushed and beaten!
They have a silent celebration
premonitions of victory.

And the last piece will breathe ice Oct.
Silence will always splash in my chest.
I will rise like the one mentioned in vain Lazarus,
Because it's time for my life to go forward.