C. Zueva - The poetry of spring

The shine is of the flying silvery Snowman

Eclipsed the sparkle of every-days.

The slope shrouded at the shaggy grass.

The water was riding white.

Into the heavy, nasty times,

In silence, I remember Your sight.

Do not to search me do You not.

I want to always be in the shade.

I’m, like the flower waterfall’s,

Which someone picked up to air.

Some flowers are growing in the mountains, that bloom in summer and winter times. I’m sure, it is a lot of lonely dinosauro-prime, the them crowd, are going to the mine.

And I’m watching as tired waves, when you were listening the wind’s talk. I might have to look to your image again. I might have to together bird’s flocks’ mud.

I watch the movement in the sky

I watch the movement in the sky. This is the storm blew to the face. A wind carries old centuries time forever, to the skies space.

Already a white snow did fall on the hills in the copse fluffy snows are on every branch and the light shine in every home.

Only then colours are filled the day, when I see you – my Grandmother Anne.

When you’re with me, for all my Way, in the winter, flowers blooming a man.

Your eyes are full of the goodness, which is given to just your one.

As the Moon a rise in the darkness, so is your gentle brown eyes are shine.

Your eyes are lovely gentle glowing, incise the eternal love are moving.

The bright sun is in the winter

The bright Sun is in the winter.

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