Дмитрий Алёхин – 400 Poems (страница 11)

A pride, a love, a quiet cheer.

The Scarf My Mother Made

My mother knit this scarf for me,

With wool so soft, with love so free.

She dropped some stitches here and there,

But I don't notice, I don't care.

I wear it when the winter bites,

It wraps me up on cold dark nights.

And mother's hands are in the thread,

A warmth that stays when she's in bed.

The Paper Map

No GPS, no screen, no light,

Just paper folded left and right.

I spread it out upon the hood,

To find the way, to find the good.

I trace the roads with finger slow,

I learn the names of towns I know.

A map is old, but it is true,

It shows the way for me and you.

The Old Man on the Bench

He sits alone with bread to share,

For pigeons that will gather there.

He throws a piece, they fly around,

A happy flock on dusty ground.

I pass him every single day,

He nods at me in his own way.

No words are said, but I can see,

A gentle soul, a man so free.

The Thunderstorm

The sky turns dark, the thunder rolls,

A sound that shakes my very soul.

The lightning cracks, a flash so bright,

That turns the day into the night.

I hide inside with candle glow,

And let the storm outside just blow.

It rages loud, but I am safe,

A little box, a little waif.

The Lemonade Stand

Two kids have built a lemonade stand,

A table, cups, a hopeful hand.

"A dollar please!" the little one cries,

With sunshine in her eager eyes.

I buy a cup, it's warm and sour,

But I don't care, I have an hour.

A dollar spent on childhood dreams,

Is worth more than it really seems.

The Forgotten Dream

I woke up with a dream inside,

But then it faded, ran, and hide.

I tried to grab it, hold it tight,

But morning took it with its light.

Perhaps it will come back tonight,

A dream that waits for softer light.

And if it does, I'll write it down,

And wear it like a golden crown.

The Keychain

A little keychain on my bag,

A tiny heart, a little flag.

It jingles when I walk around,

A happy, light, familiar sound.

It was a gift from long ago,

From someone I no longer know.

But still it stays, it jingles still,

A memory I always will.

The End of the Road