Pavel Kogan. (№ 309653)

Again, the month hangs a scimitar,
The wind burns the sheet.
Early in the morning of the Zurbagan
Ships sail in Liss.
Cypress waves to the shore.
The skipper, believing all the gods
Quite seriously believes,
That the world is Zurbagan.
And go sail to the West,
Across the sea and through the verse
That heavy smell of magnolias
A sad song to convey.
When burns Rowan,
Circling in the wind the yellow leaf,
We will raise a glass for the green
And quietly cheers Liss.