New year's snow fell,
You can hear the chatter of the Nightingale.
From one whose gaze is deep,
I'll leave tonight.
I will go alone into the darkness,-
And where - I don't know yet...
Where Irtysh in the furnace smoke
Slumbers, sighing bitterly, -
Maybe there, under the bridge;
Il on the far Bayou,
Where does Alkonost dive
Into the graying sedge.
Whether in a pure field, in a ravine, -
Brighter than the stars from the ravine,-
Where on a bed of driftwood
Sleeping wolf cub-poor guy.
Chuden on the window pattern,
The wind rips the fog to shreds.
From one whose eyes are menacing,
I'll leave tonight.
Tonight
© Copyright: София Витальевна Гущина, 2020
Свидетельство о публикации №120010302783
Свидетельство о публикации №120010302783
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