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The dark side of the noon is midnight time. The waxing moon likes watching him undress. Undressing of this kind is not a crime against the ethics but the loneliness. The Moon's got used to weird way of writing of naked lunatic who is moonlighting for God as an insane. He's dipping well his quill in ink as blue as a bluebell and writing down the third quatrain he failed to wright last night. Complacent, naked, hailed by angels he exults, but very soon he'll sent again damnations to the Moon. The Moon is peeking in the window. Shame on you, the Moon. You, moons, are all the same. * См. перевод в комментарии 1. |
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