To A Friend

Don't touch my soul, my dear friend,
I beg you, don't call back the past,
Let's better scrimp the wordy blend,
And vodka bitterness dissolve in smoke of "West".

A branch of tree, scratching my window, brings me sadness,
An autumn wind sweeps clouds of yellow leaves,
My youth is going to a soundless darkness,
Will I find there Heaven's keys?

Alas, no sense in a wild dog's crying,
Crying of its grief a thousand times.
A vagrant will be left near his road dying,
A lathery horse will get a plug between its eyes.

Don't touch my soul, my dear friend,
I beg you, don't call back the past,
A pile of flowers in a distant land,
Won't make the summer here last...

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Copyright ╘ 2003 by Victor Ulanov
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