Is the raven spinning? Is this nonsense? Nobody needs a young poet He will write poems, he will sing songs God will whisper higher, he will translate Young and early, he will grow up, and there It would be to know in advance, suddenly, yes, Mandelstam He will explain intelligently, only that from that No, even Mikhalkov will not get out of it He has no money for dinner forever Yes, who needs such a poet? Snowstorms are coming, white snow to the porch Look, the songs are sung, the young man is lucky The match on the box is quietly flickering Youth, like a bird, chirps Years have passed with a mouse, what's wrong? Here already in the books they write about him The mind gets out, there is no chevelier Nobody needs a middle-aged poet He is not old yet, although he has an internship Books, fees, a dacha and a garage And the songs are known, and the portrait is good Only, well, although there is a crack, there is no happiness in life The rain knocks on the puddles, not a bad duet Nobody needs an old poet He is hungry, sick, liver, diabetes And on the anniversary he wraps himself in a blanket And the dinner is not tasty, and the dinner is not nice There is nothing worse than an old poet On the stake of the machado, at the railing of the porch And I really want to start from the beginning The raven spins again, as if looking for a trace Nobody needs a young poet © transcript Emily Beynon