A writer is congenitally unable to tell the truth and that is why we call what he writes fiction. - William Faulkner

CHILDREN'S POETRY

  • Clouds melt in the sky...

  • How unexpectedly and bright...

  • How nice you are, night sea...

  • On the way back

  • December morning

  • In early fall there is...

  • Look how gold grove...

  • First leave

  • Not cooled from heat...

  • How happy are summer storms...

  • Reluctantly and timidly...

  • At silent night, in the late summer...

  • The kind of ground is sad yet...

  • Winter is angry not without reason...

  • A fountain

  • In stuffy silence of air...

  • That you drive above waters...

  • Calm

  • Leaves

  • Drift sand on knee-deep...

  • Spring waters

  • Snow mountains

  • Spring storm

  • Midday

    • [English] [Russian KOI8 |
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