Tired, lagged behind. On the sand there, in the snow ...

< Victor Shendrik



Tired, lagged behind. On the sand there, in the snow,
As raw track, stumbling,
delirium During the bygone forward lopsided wagon,
In her horse, I do not drive, unfortunately.

It robbery whistling while Spacey,
I fell behind, but I hasten to groaning wheels.
Uncomfortable anywhere, if particular system,
But I decided to embark in earnest pursuit.

On the shoulder buffoon scrip outrages,
What yesterday I was rich, and this is now rich.
Or again in July charmed phase,
And the words sounded out of place in the moonlight?

I forgot smokers with me in kaptёrkah,
Waved after me when the car clanged,
Forgetting calling for back in the disassembly,
Put on the table to one of the persons.

Who else is going to the waxing time?
Who forgot about me, hobbling after?
Two big trouble, but still polubedy,
And Shine "brilliant" semi-victory.

So what to grieve? What is there, in the driver?
Not "eight" train wheel whip so threatening.
Or I was destined to take the time gray hairs,
Or extinct step and accept, tolerate?

I trudge in a rut. The choice is made, and God be with him! ..
Will I remember trotters, OKOS ...
Only fancies me far creak wheeled
Unfinished lyrics calling tune.