Ветром коснуться б румянца ланит, Уст целовать твоих пьяный фарфор, Море в груди моей буйной шумит, Волны уносят мой дух на Босфор.
My first english poem...
Love makes us cry,
But feeling bright,
It can be hurt,
Sometimes support...
We can not sleep
To feel his lips.
In our blood
Flows his sad.
When he is sad,
We're going mad,
And when he die-
Don't stoping cry,
Don't feel alive,
Like death in life...
