Song of the dog - Yesenin

On the morning of rye Zacuto,
Where Zlata matting in a row,
Seven whelp bitch,
Red seven puppies.

Until the evening, she caressed them,
combing language,
And jets snowball podtaly
Under the warmth of her belly.

And in the evening, when the chickens
Obsizhivayut hearth,
The owner came out gloomy,
Seven poklal all in the bag.

The drifts she ran,
Keep up to run after him ...
And so long, long trembled
Unfrozen water expanse.

When back slightly trailed,
Licking the sweat from the sides,
It seemed to her a month over the hut
One of her puppies.

In the blue heights loudly
she looked, whining,
A month slipped thin
And disappeared behind the hill in the fields.

and the deaf, both on handouts,
When the throw her stone into laughter,
Rolled eyes dog
Golden stars in snow.

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Anna Akhmatova
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