Blue crown, raspberry tree, Green bud, not a bud. Somewhere in the rooms the wind passed, There they congratulated in love. Somewhere he touched the old strings, Their crossing stretches. So January rolled, flew, Mad as an electric train. We, in dust and dust, dressed you, We served you faithfully. Loudly in the cardboard pipes, As if in a hurry for a feat. Even believed somewhere for a moment, To know the simplicity of the heart. Woman, that enchanted moment Laugh with your holiday, with your eternal. In moments of parting, hours of payment, On the day of departure, weeks. What did it become, you are not good, What are they all foolish? And thin as nightingales, Proud as grenadiers. What are your reliable hands, Hide your cavaliers? They would not have time to gather, They would not have time to try, But the wheels begin to knock, How hard it is to part. But the bustle begins again, Time in its own way. And as Christ, you were removed from the cross, And there will be no Resurrection. El, my El, departing deer, In vain you probably tried. Woman, that careful one, In your tangerine lost. El, my El, as if saved by blood, Your silhouette is distant. As if a trace of surprised love, Flashed not far away.