Poems about the fall of modern poets

The old school is open ... it has a lot of winters and springs.
Behind a dirty window is a cold, gray dawn.
Behind the chair, in front of the class, the artist paints autumn, -
From memory, according to the instructions of past years.

Transparent watercolor - almost not see colors,
The trees froze in the frost in the morning.
The artist paints autumn, and the children paint summer,
Fields where flowers sway in the wind.

The artist draws autumn, and the children - the moon and the stars,
And they do not care that the day does not happen stars.
The album list is spoiled ... you can't wash the drawing, it's too late.
They do not want to learn and live seriously.

All this was more than once - landscapes, love for the fatherland,
Some songs, hymns, flags over his head.
Silent indifferent class ... they just want to live.
The artist draws, and the children want to go home.

And the old still lifes, seeking to escape from death,
As if accidentally falling from the wall.
The artist paints autumn behind his old easel, -
And the children at the desk are slumbering and dreaming.

The artist paints autumn, and the children paint dolls,
Cars, teddy bears, funny puppies and kittens.
And it seems: the house is so close - only you reach out, -
And you will be there and you will not return back.

... Pictures hang on the walls; there is no end to them.
Landscapes merge into a long, dull canvas.
“Listen,” says the artist, “what did you draw? ..
There is autumn, and this is a doll, - and really funny "...

"The doll has black braids, - another, alien race,
And in our area only gold and turquoise are allowed. ”
And autumn laughs at him, plays with a thousand colors
And the pink sun looks into his eyes.

He is a simple guy, an artist, - he was not in the distant countries, -
They do not exist at all, since they are not found anywhere.
The artist paints autumn, and the children paint the sky, -
And the leaves, like stars, fly over the gray water ...

They removed the black paint - and there is neither heaven nor hell.
Life is eternal dullness, fog and dim light.
Draw correctly, children: the artist knows how to.
But children draw stars that are not in the sky.

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