*
Poems... poems don't die,
They're flying over me,
They sometimes fade
And again they bloom brightly
Again in the spring...
Poems live... they are eternal,
They both breathe and sing
About the joy of his careless,
About our fleeting life,
Machnovka in a few minutes.
*
If in life we meet poets,
That means there is a God in the world,
They are messengers of divine light,
In the words of their lives, love and honor,
We get our youth back again,
Carrying words like a gift from God,
Sounding so clean, new,
And again young is the one who is old,
So life-giving its sadness
We are given our youth again -
The river runs to the sea mouth,
It does not end in Love.