He was a few hooligan,
I liked to joke, dance and dance,
He on an accordion sometimes liked to play
Also I was the cheerful naughty poet.
He composed in fifteen years,
It is a lot of fine ideal verses,
And it is so fine to read them
Nearly hundred years later.
It was the poet well-known,
It is skillful to whistle, it is a little saws.
That happened to the poet
In the last days of December
Anybody doesn't know still,
One claim that it was hung up,
Others that someone killed him.
Sergey Yesenins memories
© Copyright: Константин Андреевич Квейкин, 2013
Свидетельство о публикации №213092301791
Свидетельство о публикации №213092301791
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