It is cold outside and boring.
Poems don't warm my soul.
My sun had set although,
It promised flowers for all.
Son, any work in the town,
always so alien and strange,
Betrayal follows like shadow,
Like a clot in the throat are days,
But the song, like a pulse, does not break,
One should not just survive but live,
O My heart, where do you wander?
I'm waiting for you, can not weep.
http://www.stihi.ru/2012/08/16/8116