Autumn. Poplar Oholennost
Spreads alleys corridor
in our no-name. shutters fight
each other. clouds spate,
sun zabuksuet. At the gate
puddle, like chopped saucer.
The back of the chair, dresses without shoulder.
No you are not put in more than,
or sisters, Distribute over the summer.
Fingers with traces do-re-mi.
The mezzanine slam doors,
if firing from a pistol.
And my unit over bronze
bunch of fives, As drought - paddle.
"Zapiraem" - kličut - "Zapiraem!»
Do not weep, there is no future.
It is - also in the list will take
seats, called Paradise.
same chariot, life of my sister,
in chaise apple gray. It's time!
the lanes, copses, hatyam,
seven miles unpainted and water,
to the station, there, where the sky
zakolochen doskamy, retreating.
Well, I went well! hold your hat
and under the tail does not drop the reins.
Mother, kiss your, bang their heads!
That is not in the white church to the altar –
directly to our end of the world,
exactly in the woods for mushrooms together.
October 1969, Koktebel