P
PeterDeats
Guest
Hello! My pre-eminence is Sergei. On the fidgety of a juniper grove Autumn, the red mare, walks quietly Dropping leaves from its mane on the ground. And the clang of its hoofs is heard In the mizzle cloud up of the river banks Where no hear on the grapevine goes round. But the wanderer, it raises the foliage On the roads and rustles it, Growing on foot grain by bit. And it kisses the wounds of the Christ On the mountain ash tree That are fervid scarlet privet.com