Boris Yulianovich Poplavsky. (№ 166667)

Soul at the orphanage for the deaf
Was raised, but the defect cured;
She is saying goodbye to everyone he meets
Among the hospital buildings direct.
Harshly to an unfamiliar child
Mother turned black eyes
When sitting on a corner on a tram
They went with things at the station;
And how many times she has since wanted
Again, to numb or to become deaf again
When the fatal arrow flew
She too well understood words.
Or at least to enter the service
In this aforementioned shelter
So words are not to hear obscene friendship
And words of love are so talkative here.