Autumn Toy-Boat

Heavy clouds are high above. Autumn.
Steps are light and in this grey cotton
Sky, again, I try to see blush tint.
Drops are driven down the glass by wind,
And somewhere on the roof, in riding crops
Rain is rustling… and the rain washed off
Crayon traceries from asphalt and made
Wet-grey colored all the long shades.
This is time to walk on soaking wet streets
Chasing gossips and then making them hits,
Putting every look and breath into rhymes,
Which are dissonant for editors of all times.
We will fly a clear-blue kite
Into getting-clear-after-rain sky.
Any sign of sadness we will leave apart –
Here, acceptance takes a good start.
Frosty morning grows a ray and calls us
To wash face in cold and thin river glass,
Look up into sky and see these golden leaves
That have got away from lonely ash-trees.
The dark-eyed river with a smile will take 
A wooden small toy-boat that we just made.
With it, the laughing wind will play.
The boat is small, but it will find its way,
Believe in it, and it will ride the waves,
For every boat needs its adventure space.  
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