What is the unshared love?
What do we do for ourselves,
A day sitting in the window,
Are we all looking for muses?

Why "all thoughts only about him"?
and the breathing over the portrait,
And in the night of anachoreth,
Sleeping or tired during the day?

Love breaks the soul into pieces.
Whilst clean and irresponsible,
Then it is completely unnoticed:
Everything is destroyed: borsches, utyug, socks.

and a drunken husband,
Salary, children and pots.
pulling out, pulling out,
And all pile, pile each other.

It is better not to understand,
Who we have not,
All the reefs go around and melt,
And to live. Not to deceive yourself.

"Where are the feelings of flight and beauty?"
The Romantic asks,
In response to him, of course.
Answer: Take the cat.