Friend, durneya face, They settled in the village.
Mirror there have not heard about any princess.
River too dazzled; and the earth was wrinkled –
and forgot to think, go, of his men.
There - some boys. And from whom give birth,
know only those, that they put,
or - none, or - in the corner of the icon.
And in the spring to plow some laws out.
You go to the village, friend. In field, even more so in a grove
into the ground to look and dress easier.
There you have one for a hundred miles lipstick,
but to remove it anyway is not necessary.
You know, better to grow old there, where versta looms,
where beauty means nothing
or means not youth, tits, seed,
because nature in general, all the time.
it, who knows, will overcome the dullness.
And the forests there, too noisy, what has happened
all, and moreover - not just. And the sum of
case has a noise source.
It is better to grow old in a village. Even while living separate
life, there differences pectoral
cross in the ragged birch, in the stem of shepherd's purse,
therein, that flutters just a day.
And I'll come to you. In this "and I will come"
shall select its not, but these things win,
for the earth, as that sheet, clear
language is not so much love, how many potholes, depressions, dents.
Or let them not come. Any one of these potholes,
or water in the pit of flavor Britvin,
bars roadside, chaos koček –
Still, I: then, What you do not want.
You go to the village, friend. You know, durneya, faces
only confirm, it is possible to merge
different ways; them - Abyss,
and for us, expensive, not all known.
You know, landscape - the, you do not know.
remember this, when there is the fate of foaming.
Someday, in gray paint staring eyes,
you know yourself. And a number of gray paint.