Травы шепчут сказки, поют свою сладкую песню всем ветрам, что не побоялись залететь в наши края. Этим смельчакам не то что песни травы, им вообще ничего не страшно: они летали по грозам и бурям, проскальзывали через пустыни, лежали на дне океана и прятались под камнями у старого моста через реку памяти... Травьи сказки для этих ветров, что орешки: на один зуб попробовать да и раскусить на сто частей, чтоб и вспоминать было не о чем... А травы стараются, поют, молодцы такие, не умолкают ни на минуту, даже голова начинает гудеть от этих чудных песен... Самое время спать и видеть сны, полные трав и лугов, ветров и рек - во снах они все дружат друг с дружкой, веселятся вместе и ещё не знают, что как только наступит утро, опять придет пора начинать этот старый спор по новой... Спокойной ночи... 🌃
Herbs whisper fairy tales, sing the sweet song to all winds that weren't afraid to fly to our regions. They are not afraid that herbs' songs, in general nothing is terrible to them: they flew through thunder and storms, sliped through deserts, lay at the ocean floor and hid under stones at the old bridge through the river of memory... Herbs' fairy tale for these winds are like that nutlets: to try and get to the core on hundred parts to make nothing to remember... And herbs trying, singing, such good fellows, not stopping for a minute, even the head begins to hoot from these strange songs... It is a high time to sleep and have the dreams full of herbs and meadows, winds and the rivers - in dreams all of them are good friends, having fun together and yet don't know that at the first second of the morning they will begin this old dispute over new... Good night... 🌃
Herbs whisper fairy tales, sing the sweet song to all winds that weren't afraid to fly to our regions. They are not afraid that herbs' songs, in general nothing is terrible to them: they flew through thunder and storms, sliped through deserts, lay at the ocean floor and hid under stones at the old bridge through the river of memory... Herbs' fairy tale for these winds are like that nutlets: to try and get to the core on hundred parts to make nothing to remember... And herbs trying, singing, such good fellows, not stopping for a minute, even the head begins to hoot from these strange songs... It is a high time to sleep and have the dreams full of herbs and meadows, winds and the rivers - in dreams all of them are good friends, having fun together and yet don't know that at the first second of the morning they will begin this old dispute over new... Good night... 🌃
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