In a cold entrance.In darkness.In the corner.
An old man in a red fur coat lay on the floor.
The cigarette butt flickered on the dirty steps,
And in the hat slowly burned a hole.
His beard is no longer gray.
Someone had trodden on it with a foot.
A bag at his feet, a bottle in his pocket.
The old man snored like a mossy ghoul.
The silver staff stood sullenly,
And he looked at it with a kind of longing.
Only the blue nose shone in the dark.
Our grandfather frost celebrated his holiday.
P.S.
A snowstorm blew through the broken Windows,
And the door fell off its hinges with a wild crash...