17. 11. 2012

Îëüãà Ãîð-Ñêàéÿ
It would be silly always ask you “How are you?”-
The way those busy people had invented to seem careful…
As standard answers never give idea to you
Of how hard being unaware of… How dreadful!

The seasons come, the seasons go…
All that important fades to grey…
No need to wait for more… Someday… Again tomorrow
You’ll always be.. that.. far away…