Poetry

A C R O T T Y Vonya thinks in the soul of her teeth, I catch words in the streams of feelings; And fame - admiringly rude, Trusting as a string, Or trusted as a bullet, Instant, like my life, Il eternal - I do not want. I melt, sginu in the general buzz. Rastayu ... But, having come down from the tops A collapse of sincere feeling, Inglourious words of the soul, Her embraced to the crunch, Robey, ...