Translate to:



The sky stretches little hands,
Builds in the sand dome ...
Gently evening wanderer
In the sky he called.

Let wilting on the ground,
Over cross cradle!
The boy had gone on a date
With samoyu tender of the stars.


Brother, no wonder the best bread
Greedy eyelets farce.
Temnokudry boy,
No wonder he looks at the sky!

Like his mound,
will, field, distance without measure ...
He was born in the rays of Venus,
Blue stars Roma.

Most visited Brodsky's poetry

All poetry (content alphabetically)

Leave a Reply