Rain wet broom clean
Willow manure on meadows.
Plyuysya, wind, armfuls of leaves, –
I am the same, like you, bully.

I like, when the blue thickets,
As with the heavy gait oxen,
My life, foliage wheezing,
Knees Mara trunks.

Here it is, my flock ginger!
Who could sing it better?
I see, see, like the twilight lick
Traces of a human leg.

Russ mine, wooden Russia!
I am a singer and your crier.
Animal poems of my sadness
I fed and mint mignonette.

Vzbrezzhi, midnight, moon jar
Draw milk birches!
As if to strangle someone
Hands crosses churchyard!

Haunting horror black hills,
thief anger jets in our garden,
Only I myself am a robber and Ham
And the blood of the steppe horse thief.

who saw, in the night in full swing
Boiling cheremuh Men?
I would be the night blue steppe
Somewhere with a bludgeon stand.

Brother, withered my head bush,
I suck my song captivity.
I was sentenced to prison feelings
Turn the millstone of poems.

But do not be afraid, crazy wind,
Spit calmly listvoy in lugam.
Do not erase my nickname "poet",
I songs, like you, bully.


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Sergey Yesenin
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