Three artist

[luka77]

AN Korsakova

In the spring, the spring in its beginning,
I'm sorry she was.
But there, in the darkness of my sorrow,
Oh, how happy I was,

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when in my beloved home
and among loved ones
floating in the sky with smoke dangerous
excess of pain and love.

What we come to each other,
Nobody knew, and still -
us, like a closed circle,
unity is destined to endure.

And you, beautiful dog,
you are here, too, your duty is high
in the fraternity, where a fellow colleague
tormented and cherished as he could.

But this a tragic effect
past and future losses
performed, like a dream of childhood,
saved me an intermission,

when to dinner wrapped in,
and my life was simple,
and Alexandra Nikolaevna
was the strangeness and beauty.

When I looked at her,
I thought: not in vain, oh no,
and for the mysterious case
We are born to white light.

Not useless our meal
and the benefits do not count
then, they know our hands,
as a canvas and paint combine.

No wonder dinner, interrupted ills
ready and smell, and repeat
All children's lips vows
dishes and children's eating.

Not in vain amid the holiday il penalty
a fire, and then suddenly black,
we are unhappy, or beautiful
and this doomed.

1967 Bell Ahatovna Akhmadulina