Shmuel, I don't know who was right.
Hell -- no place,
and eternal our conversation.
You can keep quiet.,
here's my hand. Third.
And a gold bracelet,
nominal pattern.
As in untilled soil flowed carat,
I'd rather stay here forever.
Seams cellars on Easter night Shine.
Even for those,
who looks at them from heaven.
Remember the line -- and in this land her
all against us, and Romans, and Procrustes.
To entwine myself in the thick of my roots,
I planted a gorgeous Bush by the house.
Chickens in the autumn graze it,
propagate
from the shell of some Faberge.
But before the blossoms are out --
it's Zas,
the old barefoot nerd of my ears.
Gold will be reflected in your glasses,
not zamychu,
not exactly whistling.
No one will sweep us out with ashes.
Bye
the hat won't burn down on my Bush.
Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.
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