Yevgeniy Dolmatovsky. (№ 97966)

Just like to declare myself a Saint,
The cloth hung out like a flag on a pole
Over the Adobe house of his own,
And think about life and death;
After retiring from all the labors, anxieties, worries,
Thin shoulders covered with sacking,
Cross your knees, sit as God,
Shaking his lion's mane.
You are in the world guest in every house.
Get up, go trample my path.
Hungry riprap rice a handful of
The poor man will give the cake.
Wait! Answer me a simple question:
They are Holy or you are Holy?