Назад             На главную страницу

 

                                                                                                                         Я не Пушкин, но...

                                                                   

                                                                        Петляет дорога

                                                                                                         в промерзшей степи,

                                                                                      Озябнувший ветер уснул

                                                                                                                               на пути.

                                                                                      То воет, то стонет,

                                                                                                          как раненный зверь,

                                                                                       Ауканьем кличет

                                                                                                          сестрицу-метель.

                                                                                       Струиться дорога

                                                                                                          в заснежную даль...

                                                                                       От ветренной песни

                                                                                                           на сердце печаль.