My Sister - Life today in flood
Rasshiblas spring rain all,
But people in the key fob highly peevish
And politely sting, like snakes in the oats.
The older it has its reasons.
undoubtedly, undeniably ridiculous your reason,
That storm violet eyes and lawns
And the smell of raw mignonette horizon.
In May, when the train schedule
Kamishinskaya branch reading in the compartment,
Ono grandiosely St. pysanya
And black from dust storms and canapés.
With only plucked, razlayavshis, brake
On the peaceful villagers in the remote fault,
With the mattresses look, Does not my platform,
And the sun, sitting down, sympathizing with me.
And the third plesnuv, departures bell
continuous apologies: sorry, not here.
Under the curtain has burns night
And crumbling steppe from the steps to the star.
unblinking, blinking, but sleep somewhere sweet,
And Fata Morgana favorite sleeps
Meanwhile,, as the heart, splashing on platforms,
Wagon doors sprinkles in the desert.
Summer 1917
