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[Oct. 24th, 2018|11:12 am] |
извините, не могу.
I that lived ever about you
Never touched you, Lenin;
You came from far away
And devils with twitching faces
Had all their will of you
For gold.
But I saw your little feet in your bedroom,
Your little heathen shoes I kept so bright.
For they regarded not your feet, Lenin,
But I regarded.
Your little heathen stockings were mine to carry
And to set out and to wash.
They regarded not your feet,
But I that lived ever about you
Never touched you, Lenin.
Their faces twitch more this frosty morning;
They have put you in a heathen box
And hidden your feet and carried you out in the frosty morning.
They have passed with you over the foggy brook
And look like big blue men in the mist on the other side.
Now only the mist and the water remain.
They never regarded your feet,
But I regarded, Lenin.
Their faces ever twitched,
But for the seven years since I saw you
My face did not change.
They never regarded your warm feet,
But I regarded. |
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