And every evening at the appointed hour
(Or is it just my dream)
Girlish camp, captured by silks,
In the foggy window moves.
And slowly, passing between the drunks,
Always without companions, alone
Breathing spirits and mists
She sits by the window.
And they blow with ancient beliefs
Her elastic silks
And a hat with mourning feathers
And in the rings is a narrow hand. A. Blok
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Pieces | 165 |
Size | 660x900 |
Complexity | simple |
Added | Faina Neznanskiy |
Published | 2/7/16 |
Players | 31 |
Best time | 00:10:23 |
Average time | 00:27:27 |
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