© Victoria Muzalevskaya, 2023
ISBN 978-5-4474-8199-5
Created with Ridero smart publishing system
For my close people.
Tes murs pour moi sont toujours bons.
(c). Paris
Paris, when treason follows treason,
You’re whist, to think of faithless of your walls have no reason.
You gleam in lights, I’ve just a scene,
Paris, where is my Seine?
And when last star leaves my room in the morning,
And people-cities follow sun to spring,
Sea wind is blowing,
Radio waves sing.
I have something for you to see —
It is my smile and cup of tea,
And all these hearts are on the wall —
I hang them everywhere in hall.
And on the table you put album.
It’s empty.
Let there be a home
That you imagine in your dream.
I think of you,
You’re my best team.
Baby, you go,
You’re passerby.
You never leave me —
Your lullaby.
I want believe you
And I want to cry.
Baby, you give me
Your Lullaby.
Baby, I follow
Day after day.
And I whist words
I have to say.
You can be my friend,
You can be a bay,
You didn’t answer
Me yesterday.