our people, Is it not true, not yet accustomed to separation?..

our people, Is it not true, not yet accustomed to separation?
All name flutter each other sparkling wings!
Someone threw the highest soft linked arms,
But about remembering forgotten souls.

Every evening, Grilled by the sorceress meek will,
Every evening, when over the mountains and in the heart of the fog,
By nezabyvshey soul uncertain, timid gait
Approaching the old deception.

like the wind, that fleeting rush past awakens,
You're one of sparkling lines smile at me again.
everything is permitted, all! We do not condemn the daily anguish:
Are you from sleep, I'm in a dream…

Someone gave us the highest unnamed-sweet flour,
(It will be a lot of wandering-wandering amid the snow and darkness!)
Someone threw the highest soft linked arms…
We are not responsible!

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Marina Tsvetaeva
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