L. Semenov
I wait near death the morning star.
You have come from afar.
Here fulfill the duty of Queen
In the pale light of a lamp.
I'm ready. My shroud desktop.
Mortal whisk round the brow.
Snow my paintings
You lit the lamp-light.
Put the transparent canopy
exhaust king.
On the tops of trees caustic
the dawn.
The path is uneven. bending branch.
My way is paved with them.
Royally-rock smile
Do not distort the earth.
January 1904
