Greyness

Tired grayness is spread over fresh canvases.
I believed in the sun walking proudly in the sky,
But the city is permeated with the breath of the harsh Nord,
And it seems that autumn is stalking me
………………………………………………………………………………. I knew it would end in a gray melancholy.
Yes, even sadness I predicted long ago.
I didnt torment you - I punished myself.
Disappeared. Escaped. Found the long-awaited peace.

V. Polozkova " Tired grayness spilled on fresh canvases"