Sergei Yesenin

Is it my side, side,
Hot stripe.
Only the forest, yes salting,
Yes, the river scythe...

The old church languishes
Throwing a cross into the clouds.
And sick cuckoo
Does...Read more

Sergei Yesenin

Is it my side, side,
Hot stripe.
Only the forest, yes salting,
Yes, the river scythe...

The old church languishes
Throwing a cross into the clouds.
And sick cuckoo
Does not fly from sad places.

For you, my side,
In the flood every year
With a pillow and knapsacks
Praying sweat pours.

Faces are dusty, tanned,
Eyelids gnawed out the distance,
And dug into a thin body
Save the meek sadness.

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