The cat's lips are covered, when a hungry wind drank them cracked milk from the dishes. They do not climb to the stars anymore. They do not lie down in the fireflies. Their eyes are carbonized. but a sting-as poverty a beast of a beggar. Their tails are broke but low the dust of this storm to blush. Because this storm is one of the steps, with which I broke all the tiles from the roof of our eternal together. The house has fallen away for a few moments. from memories the house is just a cemetery. The umbrella against my rain is on my shoulder. For two. You're wet. You are still a monument. But they say you went to a cat, returns again - the lives are nine. However, I know the return cat is another cat. Another time is for her. And the cat I've known, is ash. There is no glory in ashes.