My insistent sister is life
leads me eleven for the jar
and hears: "not enough, lend"
in the hoarse performance of a tramp.
There are so many specific good things in us
and greatness, Almighty,
that we spare the harmful beaver,
your destroying booth.
That's what I'm driving, I'm wearing a louse!
"Hold on, brother, maybe the Lord does not curdle.
Now, now ... ", pulling out the knife
from the warm pocket of a winter jacket.
