1 January 1965 of the year

Magi forget your address.
It will not be the stars above your head.
And only the wind howling husky
rasslyshit you, as of old.
You work off the shadow of a tired shoulder,
blowing out a candle, before you go to the.
As more days, than candles,
promises us Calendar.

What is it? sorrow? maybe, sorrow.
tune, familiar heart.
he repeated. Let it go.
Let happen again.
Let it sounds and in the hour of death,
as gratitude mouth and eyes
so, that makes us
sometimes looking into the distance.

And in silence staring at the ceiling,
because obviously empty stockings,
understand, that greed - only bail
Togo, I was too old.
That later believe miracles.
And raising his eyes to heaven,
you suddenly feel, that he
sincere gift.


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Joseph Brodsky
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