Untitled

They say It's May of thunderstorms

And soon is June of love and joy.

But I'm too serious for it,

I am too old to feel the heat.

I love the tune of March and lead

July's beginning of the mead

September is the rush of winds

But I'm too tired, I'm getting week

Can my October be less sober?

On wings of dreams it's flying over

My dizziness. I fall asleep.

I cannot feel. Surrender still.

The calmest spirit lost and found

In lands of no-one's-here-around.

And soon I see I trapped myself

In golden cage on someone's shelf.