DEB's TeA PaRTy

A little girl was sitting quietly in the room, like a puppet,
her face is pale as paper; lip is red as plum.
Looking through the sprawling iris,
She finally set her eyes on the blue frame windows
gazing at the world on the other side.
She was there before, she knew.

The suspicious man
with the olive stains on his cap
the red girl who is always playing with keys in her hands
tree has the shape of a big mushroom
old truck that is running inexhaustibly like a horse,
toward the eternal glory.

Sign, she was losing sight of the sun
the town was swallowed by the dark bit by bit,
only the leftover of the golden one
danced quietly on her eyelashes, like fairies.
Silently, a transparent drop twinkled on her face
formed a delicate pearl