Prince and swans

In the quiet hour, when the rays of non-iron
And the soul is tired of people,
In the golden and majestic park
I feed the calm swans.

The evening holiday of the sky was burnt.
(Oh, and the sky is tired to burn!)
I stand by dropping the bread crumbs
In a golden, pink smooth surface.

Swim away white bread,
Spinning between the leaves of gold.
Quiet beam kisses my legs
And he trembles on the curly strands.

Shaded by a thoughtful column,
I stand and watch,
How is my gift with sad gratitude
Accept white friends.

In the dark hour, when we all cherish,
And the soul languishes without people,
To the palace along the fringing alleys
I'm coming from white swans.

Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.