Inok

I go to a calotte, light monk,
Steppe path to the monasteries;
Dry purse of hvorostinok
I hang over the shoulders to the curls.
I want to measure your ends,
native Russ, I'm in the dew
And believe in happiness neighbor
On vzboronennoy band.
I'm going. The grass is ringing my staff,
In the face waving shawl dawn;
Sgrebaya hay decimated,
Sing me a song mowers.
Looking for ring lychnyh pryasel,
Only one thought, I DREAMS:
Happy, who decorated his life
Difficulty of life on earth.
With a smile of joyful happiness
I go to the other shore,
Having tasted ethereal Communion,
Praying at the stacks and stacks.

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Sergey Yesenin
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