Book: Count Nulin

Now we can rightly
To say that in our times
Wife true wife,
My friends, it is not a miracle.

So sometimes a crafty cat,
Cutesy minion maid,
After a mouse sneaking from the stove:
Sneak slow,
Polysegments rises,
Curdle someone's tail plays
Will opened his claws, cunning clutches
And suddenly the poor thing swells-drape.

Unbearable heat of his embraces,
Can't sleep count - the devil never sleeps
Teasing sinful dream
In this sense. Spunky, our hero
Imagines vividly
Mistress eyes are eloquent.

In late September
(Contemptible prose speaking)
In the village is boring: dirt, bad weather,
Autumn wind, fine snow.