So I was sitting in the hut.
Near - beer mug
And its unfortunate owner.
Little by little, his face niknet,
Soon softly touches the knees,
Yes and hands, unable to bend,
Only bryaknut bones,
Fall and hang.
this beggar, like me, - in old times
It was, like me, noble family,
slender young men, brave hero,
Seducer northern maidens
And singer Scandinavian legends.
Here pieces of his clothing:
Colored stripes tissue,
Gold embroidered red
And poblekshih.
Further vyzhu wife
On huge benches:
Who owns into oblivion
sword hilt;
Who, to shield leaning,
Stuck lanky spur
under the bench;
Who dropped his helmet, and the helmet,
Decaying on the floor,
Breaks pale grass,
Doomed to live without spring
And breathe antiquity breathless.
Next - decorously, beer in barrels,
Sit old men and women,
And they burn down crowns,
Illuminated by a narrow strip
distant dawn.
And streams of green curls,
Framing the depth of wrinkles,
And the eyes under a canopy of eyebrows
Lights marsh slumber.
