September. Oaks.
Though I see sparkles of amber, The mighty oaks in September Are fresh, as if in June they’d left, As if they’d become quite deaf, As if they couldn’t see bird flocks Flying south with sad talks.
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iverhyck
Born in Kiev. Worked in aviation (1981-1991). Became a doctor (1989). Have been a teacher of English since 1996. Published a book for children "IVERHYMES!!!" (2006). Prefer writing iverhymes, but usually call them 'iverhycks' (sounds like limericks,...
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