One in the fields,
Where the wind blows softly,
Among wolves,
Limply have stood for a century,
And the power of it,
Premonition success.
Trees so low
Slope of the branches,
And if you lost, tired
Ropes are already hang ...
Here come the artists, poets
Carry with you easels and sheets,
And he sees the look of the artist, the poet,
Suddenly among the autumn medley,
Suggested as wind,
Here, you just hang ...