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Инок

Искрится снег, от жажды хрупкий,

Несутся в холод склоны гор,

Отринув мир, с клюкою чуткой

Крадётся инок жечь костёр. 

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Марина

My poetry doesn't reflect my feelings. It mostly stems from observation and communication with the others and sometimes from long days of readin…

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