Factory - Block

In the house next door Zsolt window.
In the evening - in the evening
Creak thoughtful bolts,
People come to the gate.

And muffled locked gates,
And on the wall - and on the wall
Motionless someone, black one
People believe in peace.

I hear all my tops:
He is a copper voice calls
Bend back exhausted
At the bottom of the multitude.

They will wander off and,
Leaned on the back of coolies.
And Zsolt windows ridicule,
That these beggars held.

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Marina Tsvetaeva
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