My dreams are like sea. In my mind, it is always the same poem that grows in my inner journeys.
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O beautiful country, far country,
The country I don't know.
I came to my own will,
Not a noble horse.
Me, this brave lad,
Your youth dragged the fire.
And the wine fumes on my head.
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And one day I suddenly woke up with the phone ringing with Pushkin. It was a phone call for you. The hopes had rebelled. The house was like our dreams. The flight tickets received immediately did not leave any doubt. This time we were determined. Without him, another house, surely.
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