Today someone was selling happiness
Today someone was selling at the crossroads of happiness.
It was among the hooks and old bright dresses,
among the tired, dusty books, in broad brushes and chalk.
It was on all averase watched.
People walked past, rarely someone suddenly walked up to the counter
To purchase a booklet, a calendar, a needle, thread, pin.
And indifferent gaze glided over small things,
But happiness is so begged to be in the house, so shy and awkward.
Malade looked, barely squeaked,
But “someone” was walking by, and the happiness faded.
It was getting dark, I walked home. In the pockets of warming his hands.
The dealer collected the goods, hummed a little bored.
I would pass, but suddenly touched pleading and sad
Helpless miserably, as if the farewell sigh.
I walked over and behind glass plastic Windows
the little lump was shaking with grief and resentment.
The lump was tired, wanted in the heat, freezing in the cold,
but unfortunately the ball was not wanted.
– For how much? – my voice trembled with tension.
What? It? Is! – No, really, it is one of torment!
I carefully took the lump on his breast pressed,
Shielding in the folds of the coat almost ran home.
Ran warm. Hurry, hurry! In the heat with a frosty streets,
And even the glare of the lights as if he smiled…
And smiled the white snow and the sky. The world laughed.
There were still people that happiness is not rushed.
I brought the lump into the house and it became suddenly clear,
That anyone not giving it and not taking it back..