Brighter, Brighter...
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The fallen leaves, lived out poems
Who needs you, autumn, rain, ...
our days will pass as empty smoke
no one will askof them again.
But clearly become life dreams,
and they reveal themselves much brighter,
Where are you from, and from which heights
you carry light - and soul is crying?
Oh, will be soon my whistle-stop,
Behind it - winter, sun is hiding
Its light, and then Christmas will come,
And dreams of mine - much brighter, brighter...
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