I live on Zemli waiting for a miracle:the white-winged grazing quiet river That white kyleplacy will niotkuda starry dew, the Sun in the drop. Swept over selezionata sarnici closed gasasa far below.I’m afraid that melnicheko will not happen —And love like a storm, Just passing by. How many springs belogolovy nights,How many meetings and razluchnica winters covered with snow!How many lips, how many rukna love answered,But left without sorrow,Without pain, without words. I’m afraid that melnicheko not going to happen,Only in my dreams ptica gave the blue.And open my eyes —Rain knocks on the window:the storm was Going,Right passed us!