And let the time of concepts live,
I'll ask anyway,
And how many of the same crosses-crucifixes
You left, my Russia?
Which way, which way,
What banner will you go with,
Where happiness, joy-hard to get
Will you suddenly find yours?
Or perhaps, the hour of prophesying,
Are you afraid to scare him off,
When it is clear-a trace of roadsides
Just someone's old way.
Isn't that why, oddly enough,
Looking into the unknown distance,
The German train became a " peregrine Falcon»,
And the North wind is the Mistral.
Not so weak at heart
And the Russian spirit came to naught -
We can't live without Polish apples
And without English cigarettes?
What nonsense, but people believe,
Color of hope to draw Nov,
But black color, a shade of gray,
The promise of suffering and blood.
And will rise again the cross - the crucifixion
And will be the topic of breast torment.
While the time of concepts is alive
Alas, we will not be happy.