Юбилейная

We have never been able to pick out the stars of the haze.
So we sang not what we wanted and what we could.
We were perhaps too sweet,
And we become white cloth small
On stёrshihsya necks frozen streaks of resin.

Look, my joy, frozen streaks of resin.

Oh, my Muse, you're gone, powdery snow.
Damn rhyme split into rattle and hum.
Find them harder than a needle in a haystack,
Especially if you look on the run,
And I still like running - and, moreover, no gu-gu.

Run, my joy, run only, mind you, no gu-gu.

The major Cockayne won alcoholic Minor.
Some animals with Bayan came out of their holes.
And I still lug around in the midnight watch,
Although this watch has turned to shame.
I think my father's shadow left Elsinore.

Alas, my joy, she left Elsinore ...

Yesterday's hymns now as the couplets sound.
Cheerful hares devoured sad cubs.
When I breathe today's children
Or, say, read our own chat,
I understand perfectly: where as worthy silent.

What do you want, my joy? It's time to shut up.