An evening is black.
A snow is white.
Wind and wind!
On his feet man couldn't stand right.
Wind and wind -
All over the god's world being!
Wind is curling
The white snow.
Under the snow - it is ice.
It is slippery, heavy
On the road, a passer-by
Is sliding along his way -
Ah, a poor man!
From one building to another one
There is a rope stretched.
On that rope you see a placard:
"All power - to the Constituent assembly!"
And here an old woman is crying,
She can't understand why for this placard
It was used such a great amount of fabric,
Out of it many a puttee
Could be made for children,
That day many people are undressed and shoeless.
An old woman, as a hen,
With difficulty got over the snow-pile.
- Oh, Mother-Patroness!
- Oh, bolsheviks could bring us a death!
Wind is striking!
The same is the cold!
A bourgeois is standing at a cross-road
With his nose, hided in a collar.
And who is he? - The long hairs,
He speaks in a half-voice:
- The traitors!
- Russia is perished! -
It may be a writer,
An orator...
And here's a long-skirted man -
Aside is going - behind a snow pile...
Why ain't you being glad,
Comrade priest?