A Chinese man is so much like the Chinese,
like a hare - hare to another.
They are so per person,
it seems: one egg
laid for them-old Chinese woman,
and maybe - cuckoo-linnet.
The flower is like another flower.
So the nail like a nail.
And similar to cornflower cornflower.
Mendelian not only stalk,
but even the very pollen
does not preclude a person.
And many days in a row
we, not wanting to strain your eyes
in the era of fountain pens and missiles,
so we get the nation, bouquet.
There is no value in the eyes of the Pioneer
and closely selektsionerskoy.
When the dragon scaly with horse
Egorov - in the case, me
slay, and, I suppose, forever and ever
icon will change - and when
lying in a coffin I will, lonely,
I did not see the flowers, a wreath.
Wanting to make Maiden Impressions,
flower cups bestow clusters,
preferring exception - mass.
So we settle in the mind race,
a distance - alas - yolk
danger of removing protein from.
All day I wander in a grove of yellowed
and I find the limit of Chinese power
not white, that waiting for the fall,
and in the shadow of the stepped evergreen pines.
And as if the life go out of the line.
"Put in the bowl of herons geranium!»