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Начало › Petya Dubarova › Poets › MOOD
The whole sky stumbled on a cloud,
and tumbled like a temple dome.
Then like a plane, it shrieked, it shouted.
And I saw, angered again and dumb,
the night rain, lean to kick
the clipped off border of the cloud.
Joy, branching out in me, was an oak
and vast the width of its crown...
For my life is a playful minute,
snatched by a long day - instantly,
I live quite unnoticed in it
but now all the sky lives in me.
B.T.
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