Dawn calls out another,
Steaming oatmeal expanse ...
I remember you, expensive,
My senile mother.
As before walking to the hillock,
His crutch in her hand,
You're looking at the moon oporok,
Floating on a sleepy river.
And think bitterly, I know,
With anxiety and sadness large,
What's your son on the edge otchemu
It is not sick soul.
Then you go to the graveyard
AND, to stone staring point-blank,
Sigh so gently and simply
For my brothers and sisters.
Let us grow knife,
A sister grew, how May,
You are all the same eyes alive
Sadly not lift.
quite grieve! pretty!
And while you spy,
As the apple tree, too hurt
Lose their leaves copper.
After all, happiness is rare,
As spring units in the morning,
And I - the rot on the branches -
Better to burn in the wind.
1925
