The way will be not long and not краток
Not severe, доброю in the winter.
The snow quietly falls wearily,
Because it, today, mine.
Has stuck round me a cheerful plenty,
Snow-white cloud,
Dims a trace a fluffy layer,
About which spoke much.
Light naivety of winter days,
That prickly, rather obstinate,
Fragile under runners саней,
Kind, unexpected and thawed.
Kind enthusiasm of soul
Snow-white tenderness opened.
Has ground January pencils-
And as though sorrows are forgotten.
Easy fascination of ideas
With a thin innuendo of laces.
From winter breath is fuller,
If to gird потуже.
A.Klimov