Poetry

Last summer day

(Machine translation - Google)
Why grass and flowers have
withered?
Why autumn knocking on the doors?
And the wind drives on the ground sheets,
And the sun no one believes

And the sun no one believes.
Worth Milky mist over the river,
Evening descended, the coated film,
And meadows nakinuv his shroud,
Растаял in the mirror of twilight precarious.
Last summer's day with their beauty
All the whirl and zadurmanil.
He left, and only trace of golden
On hot summer left.