Years young with zabubennoy glory,
I poisoned myself you bitter poison.
I dont know: Do my end is near, How far is,
We had blue eyes, but is now faded.
Where are you, joy? Darkness and horror, sad and a shame.
In the field, whether? In the tavern? I can not see anything.
Pull your hands - and that listening to the touch:
Let's go ... horses ... Sani ... snow ... we drive through a grove.
"Hey, coachman, Carry vengeance! Tea, not born weak!
Soul vыtryasty not sorry for this uhabam ".
And the driver in response to one: "In such a blizzard
Very scary, so that in the way the horse sweat ".
"You, coachman, I see, quake. It is not with our hands!»
I took the whip and whip well on the backs loshazhim.
Beau, and horses, like a blizzard, snow flakes spread in.
Sudden jolt ... and from the sled directly to the snow I.
I stood up and see: What the hell - instead brisk trio ...
Lying bandaged on a hospital bed.
And instead of horses on the road bumpy
I beat a tough bed Modra bandage.
Facial hours a mustache twirled the arrow.
Leaned over me sleepy nurse.
Tilt and wheezing: "Oh you, zlatoglavыy,
You poisoned himself a bitter poison.
We do not know, Whether your end is near, How far is, –
Blue your eyes soaked in the taverns ".