poor excuse

How old love, as love zabyvaemo-new:
Morning in a house of cards, laughing, transforms our church.
About agonizing shame for the evening extra word!
On the morning yearning!

He drowned in the blue dawn, a month, trireme,
On parting with her it's better not writing pen!
Morning in a miserable wasteland turns our Garden of Eden…
How to love – старо!

Only at night the soul sent out signs,
Because all night, as a book of all take care!
No one whisper, waking up, about the delicate miracle:
Light and marvel – enemies!

Your enthusiastic delirium, light pink chandeliers, gilded
Will be in the morning is ridiculous. Let him not hear Dawn!
morning will – sage, morning will – cold scientist
the, one night – poet.

How could I, only at night living and breathing, how could I
The best night to send torment on the January day?
I blame only the morning, passed a sigh of sending,
Only the morning of blame!

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Marina Tsvetaeva
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