Sadness and crying and laughing,
Ringing streams of my poems
The legs tvoih,
And each verse
Is running, weaves live ligature,
Not knowing their shores.
But through the crystal jets
You're far away I, as it was…
They sing and cry Dotterel…
How do I create features of your,
I hope you can come to me
From enchanted gave?
8 December 1908
