All living things special Mehta…

All living things special Mehta
Celebrated since the earliest times.
If I was not a poet,
the, maybe, He was a crook and a thief.

Skinny and undersized,
Among the boys is always a hero,
Often, often with a broken nose
I came to his home.

And towards the frightened mother
I hissed through bloody mouth:
"Nothing! I tripped on a rock,
It is for to-morrow all will heal ".

And now here, when a simple
These days Kipyatkova ligature,
restless, derzkaya force
My poem spilled.

Gold, verbal pile,
And on each line without end
It reflected the former prowess
Bullies and tomboy.

As then, I was brave and proud,
Only novyu my splatters step ...
If before I was beaten in the face,
Now covered in blood soul.

And I say, not my mother,
And in a strange and laughing rabble:
"Nothing! I tripped on a rock,
It is for to-morrow all will heal!»

1922

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Sergey Yesenin
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