То же, что и постом раньше, но на английском.When I'll die, I'll fall into the grass
With flowers, small and white, so, that it seems,
The stars have fallen from the heaven,
And left between the leaves of grass. The sounding odour
Will touch my leeps, and hands, and eyes,
I'll be everything, and everything'll be me,
And' ll be sky, as big, as my spent life,
As open, as the shallops of the hands,
As plunking as a song, breathed to the air,
And golden, light as happyness, and I'll be happy,
But... And once more "but". Because I'll remember
The sky of life - blue, cold and violent, but it
Tought me to live. To sing at edge of strength...
So easy are the steps trough golden sky,
Through blue one have to fly, falling in pain,
And struggling with the strength of hard up air,
But - fly. The life is the shot,
The death - the flight of arrow. Afterdeath
Is falling to the grass so high and soft...
And I don't know, where I'm more happy -
In sounding of vibrant bow string
One second before flight, in grass,
Or in the flight itself. I know only
That flight is finite. But it is beautiful, like every flight...
@музыка:
Лора. Причем выпадает сама.