small fresh
VicentaLakin
In winter like this, it's best to stand in front of the window and look at the ink view outside the window. The charades, the trees and the trees, and the birds that were afraid of the cold, flew away, and the city was without the noise of the past. But the hyenas and the sparrows still fly in the sun, and they remain behind in their winter homes. Living on a pole, it's a lively note in the five-line spectrum; it's a scrambling play, and it's an instrument that flows in winter. Where they appear, the loneliness goes nowhere. As long as there's an empty place where they can get their feet, they're going to land on their feet, and then they're going to walk around with their heads up and down, and they're going to eat. The words are taken from "The Extremist"
