Mallow

And not the sea, and not the palm trees
I remember in December -
Lush, crazy mallow
In my mother’s clean yard.
Appear suddenly
Gathering everyone's views to themselves,
Pink and burgundy salvo
On the skewer branches!
Gramophone echoes
Or - Gulliver's loach,
These mallows are like suckers
The heat of July is eagerly drinking ...
Mallow smells like childhood, summer,
The fragrant air is thick.
By the quiet light of the sunset
The malva bush is illuminated.
Someone is waiting for heavenly manna ...
Paradise is not in heaven, but here.
How mallows bloom in July,
God, how they bloom!

Olga Grigorieva