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You are my poems requirest right ...
Somehow survive without them.
Let the blood left and grams,
Is absorbed bitterness of.

We burn a distant life
Gold and lush days,
And to meet in the heavenly homeland
We do not whisper night lights.

And from our glories
Holodochka flowing wave,
If we were on a mysterious crypt
Someone, shuddering, read the names.

Do not think of parting bottomless,
It would be better right then – spot ...
AND, probably, We razlučennej
In this world, nobody ever.
1963. Moscow

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