Victoria Levin

Prague will repay you with gold:

Gold leaves of November`s street,

Songs of the wind, not yet sung,

Flute stuck to the cold lips.

Plasma of River, the cool Vltava Belt

Flows between the autumn hills,

Precisely touches cold minds

With the undying glow of a legend

Gasp, opening the dimensionlessness of the clock,

Flowing into the day and the century!

Prague steps into ether interjections,

Franciscan shadow falls on the call.

Gold beer and gold words

The Prague alchemist collected in a flask,

Prague will charm me. And on the forehead

Knocks softly - to wake up from dreams