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This wind
brings all dead things to life,


Branches
that lash the air like whips


And dead
leaves rolling in a hurry
Or peering in a rabbits' bury


Or trying
to push down a tree;


Gates that
fly open to the wind


And close again behind,


And fields
that are a flowing sea
And make
the cattle look like ships;


Straws
glistening and stiff


Lying on
air as on a shelf


And pond
that leaps to leave itself;
And
feathers too that rise and float,
Each
feather changed into a bird,


And
line-hung sheets that crack and strain;
Even the
sun-greened coat,


That
through so many winds has served,


The
scarecrow struggles to put on again.



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Ответы и объяснения

2013-11-14T00:25:58+04:00
Какое-то странное стихотворение) сумасшедший перевод)