Giving up on the wet stalks Face in the grass of the field: Let the heart prostukaet land Listened capita land. I see it: loud and clean The rustle of sagebrush newly-fallen snow Grasshoppers mow wheat In bitter aspen groves. On the leaves, the leaves bending down, Herbalist, wandering to sleep Blue star comes Warm up to the night window. And the woman, he heard a rustling, Admits a star on the threshold, And somewhere in the train blows In the old hunting horn. Creak as baggage, corncrake, And lunar trails pylyat ... And my heart prostukalo land And the heart of the earth opened.
