My food - stingy rations

My food - stingy rations.
My feelings donated whore.
I crushed my modest talent
Under glass in flea pivnuhe.

And when I have eyes Gulf
According pivnuhe stagger scattered,
People pulled me by the hand,
People ask Esenin.

And so I want to send the mat
I hated this audience!
How can you spit in the soul
Nesvershonnomu in the life of the poet?

Nothing, Now I otdyshites,
Again, read them, "Bully",
And then drown their sorrow
The white foam of a beer glass.

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Sergey Yesenin
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