Дмитрий Алёхин – 400 Poems (страница 10)

We both knew this was not for long.

So go in peace, and I will too,

A quiet goodbye is fine and true.

The Umbrella

My umbrella is a bright red dome,

It makes a little house to roam.

The rain can fall, the wind can blow,

But I stay dry from top to toe.

I share it with a stranger once,

A simple act, a little chance.

We walk together, step by step,

A bond that does not need a prep.

The Morning Mist

The fog is thick, I cannot see,

The world is gone, the world is me.

The trees are ghosts, the street is white,

A quiet dream, a softer light.

I walk into the grey so deep,

My footsteps are the sounds I keep.

The mist will lift, the sun will burn,

But for this hour, I take my turn.

The Bicycle Bell

I ring my bell, ding-ding, ding-ding,

A cheerful sound, a simple thing.

The people move, they let me pass,

I smile at them, I nod, alas.

A bicycle is slow and free,

It takes me where I want to be.

No gas, no rush, no angry horn,

Just wind and wheels and light reborn.

The Lost Earring

I had a pair, now just one stays,

The other went its separate ways.

Somewhere on the street or bus,

It left my ear without a fuss.

I search the floor, I search the car,

But it is gone, it traveled far.

Perhaps someone will find it now,

And wear it well, I don't know how.

The Ice Cream Truck

A jingle in the afternoon,

A happy, hopeful, simple tune.

The children run with coins in hand,

To get a treat that melts on sand.

I buy a cone, I lick it fast,

Before the summer heat can last.

A taste of childhood on my tongue,

A moment when I feel so young.

The Mended Fence

The fence outside has lost a board,

A gap that makes the yard ignored.

I find some wood, I find a nail,

And hammer till my arms are frail.

It is not perfect, not so straight,

But now the yard is closed, not late.

A little fix, a little care,

A broken thing that I repair.

The Ferryman's Whistle

The ferryman gives a loud long blow,

A sound that tells us when to go.

The engines rumble, ropes are free,

The water takes us out to sea.

He does this every single day,

The same old route, the same old way.

But in his whistle, I can hear,