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, , , , , , - , welcome. , , :)))
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O, February, pick up your pen, and weeping!
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Black spring! Pick up your pen, and weeping,
On February, in sobs and ink,
Wright poems, while the slush in thunder
Is burning in the black of spring.
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Beneath the earth is black in puddles,
The wind with croaking screeches throbs,
And the more randomly, the surer
Poems are forming out of sobs.
(Translated by L. Pasternak Slater)
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