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Month face paddles in a puddle,
From the sky shines purple satin.
I'm no use to anyone,
Lonely and drunk, one.

A little good in life,
Pain does not sink in the damn wine,
Even and, he loved, ceased
I smile at the meeting.

For what? And for that, that I drink,
Is it possible for it to abuse,
Kohl on this planet on a drunken
My poor mother gave birth.

I'm no use to anyone,
Lonely and drunk, one.
Month face paddles in a puddle,
From the sky shines purple satin.

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All poems of Sergey Yesenin

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