Boris Leonidovich Pasternak. (№ 382576)

For many winters
I remember the days of solstice,
And each was unique
And repeated without an account.
And a whole series of them
The composition little by little -
Those days only when
It seems to us that time was.
I remember them without exception:
Winter is coming to the middle,
Roads get wet, from the roofs flows
And the sun basking on the ice.
And loving, as in a dream,
Each other stretch Popasna,
And the trees in the sky
Sweat from the heat of squarely.
Too lazy and sleepy arrows
Tossing and turning on the dial
And longer than a century lasts the day
And ends the hug.