The night city - blue sky

It's like a dream, like snow, like rain, as if spring and autumn, and winter ... Your shadow over the young rye curved like a cloth of blue. An unpleasant sad joke like a partridge is interwoven. And an aromatic sadness began to slightly revive you. I stopped, I stopped and closed my eyes, probably experiencing you. And the soul guiltily, guiltily silent, only the shadow passed through it. Only the wind, the wind is barely withered, has a chicken. Ah, what kind of blue we've ever forgotten here. Blue, the blue ...