Simone Braun. From the greenhouse to the Tatras with a white rose
The brook murmured and the vines bent.
We sheltered under them.
I was young, you turned
and hugged. Doubts were washed away.
The rise seems to be unknown,
but no darkness is visible.
In all ways for a long time everything is clear
just not me, when I'm on the other
In the garden of my beautiful muses
necklace fell from the neck
of the Slovak Tatras, it is circling
like white rose decoration.
In the thoroughly climbed mountains
frost and haze. Rose breathes.
And lures. We go into the house,
and somewhere above the tango we hear.
Snowflakes like stamens of dreams
roses on the pestle showered
its pollen. Simone, we
in the rhythm of tango together dipped.
And we did not care for frost,
and the white color glowed with power.
Doubt puted in a ford
like a bridge on a creek of doubt.
IgVaS
From 11.1.2019
to 24.1.2019
P.S.
Photos from the Internet: http://ru.depositphotos.com/stock-photos/58775193
ОПУБЛИКОВАНО:
На русском:
http://newsland.com/community/25/content/6626556
http://newsland.com/user/4294984225/content/6627782
http://maxpark.com/community/25/content/6626556
http://maxpark.com/community/25/content/6627782
http://www.proza.ru/2019/01/24/346
http://www.stihi.ru/2019/01/24/1580
На чешском:
http://newsland.com/user/4294984225/content/6627769
http://maxpark.com/user/4294984225/content/6627769
На английском:
http://newsland.com/user/4294984225/content/6627780
http://maxpark.com/user/4294984225/content/6627780
http://www.proza.ru/2019/01/25/242
http://www.stihi.ru/2019/01/25/1295