There is a hut on chicken legs,
She lives in her Grandmother-the witch,
And there is no way-path,
Around nothing but white snow.
Her appearance is not pleasant –
Scare the kids-just right…
Why would she look neat?
This is the fashion right now.
There is transport for movement,
After all, the stupa is like an airplane,
Of course there is no doubt about it –
My grandmother lives actively.
Goes to the grandmother rarely Goblin,
To communicate with her: what, but how,
Drink gulls-hot, fresh,
Lives she, roughly-so…
Of course this is just a fairy tale,
And we are adults, for a long time,
My years are like those sleds –
Return them from childhood is not given!