letter to My mother

Are you still alive, my old lady?
Alive and I. Hello to you, Hello!
Let flowing over your hut
That evening ineffable light.

write me, What are you, concealing anxiety,
Sad helluva lot about me,
What you often go on the road
In an old-fashioned run-down shushune.

And you in the dark blue evening
Often it is seen as one and the Well:
If someone in my tavern brawl
He slammed by Heart Finnish knife.

Nothing, native! Calm down.
It's only painful Breda.
Not so bitter, I souse,
to, you seeing, die.

I'm still the same gentle
And I dream only about,
To most of the rebellious angst
Gateway to a short, our house.

I'll be back, when the branch will spread
In spring, our white garden.
Only you make me so at dawn
Do not be, eight years ago.

No wake of, that otmechtalos,
Do not worry that, that has not come true, –
Too early loss and fatigue
Experience in my life has led.

And pray do not teach me. Do not!
To return to the old no more.
You alone are my help and consolation,
You alone are my ineffable light.

So forget about your anxiety is,
Do not be sad because helluva lot about me.
Do not go so often on the road
In an old-fashioned run-down shushune.


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Sergey Yesenin
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  1. Sitov

    bright, tender feelings for his mother, pitying him and grateful to rush in a relationship with her expressed S.Esenina – brilliantly!