умерла.
Bella Akhmadulina.
In the month of May, that month, my
in me was so ease,
and, spreading over the land,
drew me letnost weather.
I was so generous, generous
in happy anticipation of singing,
and frivolity goldfinch
I dipped into the air pens.
But, thank God, my eyes became
and insightful, and more severe,
by every breath and every takeoff
costs me more and more expensive.
And I was involved the mysteries of the day.
opened it to me the phenomenon.
look around me with a grin
old Jew.
I see the rooks Gulden,
over the black snow looming,
how boring women stare,
bent over her knitting.
And somewhere, in a pipe dudya,
not keeping flower beds and vegetable beds,
someone else's child is running
and violates the order.
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