Babysitter - Pushkin

A friend of my days of severe,
Dove, my decrepit!
Alone in the wilderness of pine forests
Long, long have you been waiting for me.
You at the window of his Svetlitsa
grieve, if the clock,
And linger constantly spokes
In your wrinkled hands.
Looking into the forgotten collars
On the way to the distant black:
Yearning, misgivings, care
Hourly closely your chest.
What fancies you ....

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Marina Tsvetaeva
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