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                                                                                                                                                   (А. Саулову)

                                                                                              Полночною птицей влетела

                                                                                                                                    в окно тишина,

                                                                                              Последний гитарный аккорд

                                                                                                                                   прозвенел и растаял.

                                                                                              Еще один день моей жизни

                                                                                                                                  отрезок убавил,

                                                                                              И вновь среди дум и стихов

                                                                                                                                  я осталась одна.

 

                                                                                              А где-то березовым светом

                                                                                                                                 наполнилась даль

                                                                                              И травы в студеной росе утонули

                                                                                                                                                  по пояс...

                                                                                              Летит без оглядки стремительный

                                                                                                                                             времени поезд,

                                                                                              И этих березовых снов мне

                                                                                                                                    немножечко жаль.

 

                                                                                              Прощайте мечты, моя юность,

                                                                                                                                         навеки прощай!

                                                                                              Из прошлого машет рукой

                                                                                                                                           босоногое лето.

                                                                                              Как мало осталось, как много

                                                                                                                                            еще не допето,

                                                                                              А осень уж дарит нам грусть

                                                                                                                                      улетающих стай.