You appeared to me, temnokudry,
You beamed me and went out.
All, what you said, it was wise,
But you poor, than the shepherd.
He spoke to me of happiness,
In a tongue,
He sang about the storm, of bad weather
And I remember the battle in the distance.
His words seemed song.
Delight and Love the storm,
He seemed more wonderful
And entertaining you.
And I, playing thoughtfully
His wealth campfire,
Today languidly forget
You, siyavshego yesterday.
