Rus homeless

Comrades, today in the mountain I,
I woke up pain
In ugasshem skandaliste!
I am reminded of
Sad story -
History at Oliver Twist.

We all have different
Lamented his fate.
Who knew the fortress,
To Siberia familiar.
Know, because now the
Priests and deacons
Pray for the health of
All members of the CPC.

And because the farmer
With damask vodka,
Describing his own kin,
Looks at Marx,
How to hosts,
floating Lenin
In the eyes of tobacco smoke.

The Irony of Fate!
We all ostrascheny.
Above the old firm
Inserted strong number.
But all we have
religious communities
With "aminem» submit
each protocol.

And they say,
Forgetting recently dangerous:
"Oh, how we ...
Not fluff, but directly in the dust ...
Fifteen pieces of myself
stabbed red,
Yes Well as each,
Every our monk '.

Russian mother!
Forgive me,
But this savagery, vile and evil,
I'm on my way is briefly
not pryholublyu
And do not kiss.

They have a home,
They have bread,
They are prayers
And blessed, and fed.
But there is this
bitter earth,
That all good
And evil forgotten.

The boys of about seven to eight
Scurry among the states without prizora,
Bestelymi korâvymi bones
They give us a sign
severe reproach.

Comrades, today in the mountain I,
I woke up in pain faded brawler.
I am reminded of
Sad story -
History at Oliver Twist.

I also grew up
Miserable and thin,
amid the liquid,
painful sunrises.
But if all stood
boys succession,
They were used thousands
finest poets.

They Pushkin,
And our Nekrasov them,
In them I,
They even Trotsky,
Lenin and Bukharin.
Not because eh my sadness
blowing verse,
Looking at them
Harry Nevыmыtыe.

I know the future ...
It's theirs…
Their calendar ...
And all earthly glory.
Not because l
My bitter, exuberant verse
For all other -
As the death bane.

I just sing it,
Nochuyuschim boilers,
I sing to them,
Who sometimes sleeps in the toilet.
ABOUT, let them
Although b read in verse,
That is, for them,
Offended in the world.


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Sergey Yesenin
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