Freezing.

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/ The bright memory of my stepfather -

From his poetic heritage /

By night, the sunset cleared up.

From frost, the air at the source is drunk.

Stars lit up, a month in a halo

And in the moonlight, the snow sparkles in the field.

At night quietly, quietly, moonlight streams

And the fog of frosty lies on the ground.

That fog enveloped the whole source in the morning.

In the trees, Irine lace was confused.