Ice Sculpture

Forty first day winter. It's a cold night. If there was something living around, it looked frozen and frozen. The air is like a poisonous serpent, blood in the veins is frozen.

One night the Ukrainians exploded. 0, a young man. He was in a hurry to inflate his pants, tired of his sister. 0, the fascists go to the hands of the villagers, they go east to save the honor and the baby. There is a tea in the future. Cephe University is crossing the river. From there, the ball sounds. There is urgency for my young mother. He wants to meet his comrades with him. 0 goes to a large, independent soil in the infant stream. It must be hid in this cold night to die, but this must save the memory of the first love.

My mommy always goes ... 0, it goes all the time, the steppe ends, the tires are cut like a cold sword.

The son of a bitch thinks your baby is starting to freeze. It looks around; shelter to search for shelter.

Here are two black shadows. There is a pair of beech trees. My mother walks towards the trees. He stands on the trees to rest. There is no power on him now. A cold, icy flame licks its face with a flame. Your mother's heart is a terrible song. Baby donations can not stand in this cold. 'No mother!' To say it was an idea. 0, away, the enemy will protect you. Although the whole world donsa is attached to it, life is a form that regulates it as oak.

Mom, you can buy wool and get it quickly. She wraps her baby ... A minute passes, the father passes ... Now she's like a good iron. Terrible, cold watered.

It trembles as if it were your own baby ... This is how the motherland is going! This time the old wall was seduced and turned again. Now, your mother's half-naked body is vulnerable to cold. 0, it feels cold. He did not take his place ... It takes back what you think: It does not matter, it does not. She should stay with a baby. The mother should save her baby. Now his son is strong and at the same time he pushes his baby in his chest with the love and whisper of an eternal mother:

I have nothing left for you now, my son. I hope now my heart.

İmage

You will not be until your last breath ...

My mother was thirsty, playing copper. Donor is stretched, telen is broken, mother's eyes are closed, salt-ice is like a pale glass, feet fall ... 0 still sticks to beech wood.