The sky spread to the sun,
Pigeons in the sky fly thoughtlessly and croak.
The curls are dissolved in the wind,
They stroke their dreams in the past.
Bald reality day.
The traffic light turns red,
But I want to continue my way.
And the cry is lonely.
The sun is hot
The backs of people that forgot about time.
That does not burn, then oblezet.
The sea is stormy with waves.
At the horizon in the distance is a lonely bather.
And the sun ducked farewell.
Field with grass multicolor
Cow pancake is pressed.
Above the neighbors are making a noise,
And on the street the night spread out over the city.
The morning begins with the baby.
I put out my cigarette.
Somewhere in the dinner finished off the last whiskey.
And not the end, but only the beginning.
The house was burning away
And the firemen stood grimly.
What has not burnt down, has got warm.
There was a knock at the door.
The desert echoed the place.
Someone in the house is a friend.
And the neighbors do not have an evil dog.
Although the sign hangs on the fence, carefully.
I know my neighbors.
"REFLECTIONS" Grandpa Go