I know, I do not write nicely,
not with flowers of wildflowers,
but with the letters of black ink,
and often for gray stuff.
For wet dirt roads,
during the dark and cloudy days,
for the gray shades of heaven,
seen when it rains.
But once,
staring at the sky,
from somewhere a beam broke ...
What do you steal - in general?
Vignette and bitterness and bile.
So, under a ragged rag,
in a cloud, black shroud,
waiting there,
covering a whole skyscraper ...
One - without a trace of shadow,
in the freshness of early dew
with an unearthly beautiful stance,
curved, exquisite rainbow!
And how does black ink,
does it make me a gray soul?
Oh, Lord, thank you,
You see, you paint - rainbow!
Goodbye and Kisses ...