The twentieth century [Theme] Page 2

We are few young, winged,
not choking in the dust,
still simple, still lovers
a smile of a child of the earth.
We only rustling in the old parks
we only birds, we live
in the charm of bright spots,
in the alternation of sound.
We only muddy color almond,
we only pervobytnye snow
the shade is thin, the echo of the far-
but we came in an ominous age.
It loomed, gross and huge,
but what is the thunder's anxieties?
We chastely homeless
with us the stars, the wind God.