Болховитин Александр Павлович Running and Autumn

You are trying to add tempo
And your feet sink in the yellow leaves
The time of weather has come, it can’t be corrected
It’s autumn shouting “Run to spring!
Still a warm evening for running
A smooth surface on the water, the breeze has quieted


Only stubbornly I run uphill
The cough hacks, after all, I won’t give up, I run
Sanctions fuck from above and below
To the WHO I’ll write love and charisma


WHO, protocol, submission, fear
And something is coming to Russia like a sweep
But fallen leaves weave a blanket
Trees without leaves already wait for the colds



A hint of clothing, of snow and ice
The Earth will live so quietly, calmly
And we, runners, partly under a roof
In shorts and T-shirts — we’ll fill running, the niche



The tree has been satiated with the summer ray
And the branches have fed on not-cold rain
And the trees are ready to stand the winter
And we, runners, will continue to run



Winter, sidewalks, melted ice
A little man will carry a bucket of reagent
With a Caucasian smile, with a naive soul
Evaporation, tears, but with shawarma in his hands


Autumn prepares us for the arrival of winter
Heating, pipes
And we have slowed down
But the brain still breathes
Change cuts
Through running your body will understand the whole scam