Here in the twilight at the end of winter
She let me - just two souls.
"Ostanʹsâ, Let's see, we,
A month will go down in the reeds ".
But in the soft whistle of reeds,
Under the wind gust,
Transparent Sinenky Ledkov
He was covered in her soul…
Gone - and there is no other soul,
I go, murlıçu: tra-la-la…
Remained: month, reeds,
Yes, the bitter smell of almonds.
27 Martha 1909