Я сижу на пеньке -

                                                                                                       отдыхаю.

                                                                 Много ль в жизни смогу?

                                                                                                        Я не знаю.

                                                                 Позади сто путей,

                                                                                                        сто извилин.

                                                                 Стал мудрей я теперь,

                                                                                                        словно, филин.

                                                                 Чистый воздух так свеж ,

                                                                                                        неба просинь.

                                                                 Незаметно подкралась ко мне

                                                                                                        злая осень.

                                                                 А в душе-то всё те -

                                                                                                        двадцать с чем-то.

                                                                 И так хочется жить!

                                                                                                        И зачем-то?

                                                                 Ведь, нельзя повторить

                                                                                                        то, что было.

                                                                 И нельзя позабыть

                                                                                                         всё, что мило.

                                                                 Впереди сто путей,

                                                                                                         сто извилин.

                                                                 И по ним я пойду,

                                                                                                         старый филин.

                                                                                     Михаил   Романенко

                                                                             15.03.2012 г.     г.Курчатов