Зато у меня доброе сердце, ебаный ты обосранец

Down the long white road we walked together
Down between the grey hills and the heather,
Where the tawny-crested
Plover cries.

You seemed all brown and soft, just like a linnet,
Your errant hair had shadowed sunbeams in it,
And there shone all April
In your eyes.

With your golden voice of tears and laughter
Softened into song 'Does aught come after
Life,' you asked 'When life is
Laboured through?

What is God and all for which we're striving?'
'Sweetest sceptic, we were born for living;
Life is Love, and Love is-—
You, dear, you.'

(никогда не пойму, почему англоязычные поэты в какой-то момент решили А ДАВАЙТЕ ВСЕ ПИСАТЬ БЕЗ РИФМЫ и теперь с рифмами пишут только авторы песен. это же так охуенно.
а я - отсталый ретроград вместе мы фруктовый сад)

@темы: reading