Autumn in the village

Old house. Village. Autumn.
It smells like rotten tops.
I threw it to the ground in the yard
Ash leaves are their last.

Evening. Quiet. Heard somewhere
Rare barking of chain dogs.
A streak of light from the window
She rushed into the twilight.

Damp. Chilly. Everything is in the fog.
The bath is heated, smoke
Tart aroma beckons
Lie down to warm up on the shelves.

Step. Porch. And the floorboard
Creak timidly under the foot.
The smell of apples oozes at the door
From the basket in the pantry ...

Sweet. It's sad. As it was
This is all with me in the past ...
Autumn. Evening. Look dull
And so dear to tears ...

Melnikova Ilona