"Poetry of the Voice". The premiere of the poem "The boots are melting snow of the road ..."

Today morning sun came out. Really? But the frosts do not recede. As the saying goes: "Today the sun with teeth." I decided to take a walk. Though it's frosty, but the birds-tits feel the spring, they chirp happily-they can not be fooled. I go, the creak of snow under my feet has disappeared, it means that somewhere on the road my pretty Spring is ... And the lines come. Unskilled, clumsy, but with all the heart.

I write about the sad, however, there is no fun,
Pimply youth of dope.
Getting old, or what? It's not like a hangover ...
And everything, through the eyes of the sky,
Seeking in cloudless boundlessness
That is God's face, then the devil of doubt.
I do not find ... Only a trickle of airplanes
Crossed in the azure picture,
And the sun glimmers in a wrinkle,
And the forehead warms, and the cap, and the boots.
It warms the air, soul, bird.
Icicles drip and snow is holey.
Girls laugh off
My nondescript figure.
I'm going ... I looked around at the beauties.
One of them was Spring, the other,
The older one is the Queen.
He laughs ... And her face is whiter than snow.
I know you. I meet and see off
And I love everyone, no - I adore!
You will meet and again break up,
And I'll stay with the younger one.
Since the spring ...
Here is an old fool, he summed up the rhyme.
I'll go back and have a go with the nymph, too,
A tired, I'll change for Autumn.
But it will be later, later ...

... In wrinkles, his forehead, a shabby kepar.
Boots are melt the snow on the road.
An old man is walking, shaking his own sorrow,
And composes a verse,
Pushing the life of epilogues ...