Translated material
Summer is gone
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Summer is already half, but there was no warmth. These are all the machinations of the Americans. There are few sanctions, they decided to ditch our agriculture. But it will not work, we did not succeed, but they have even more so.
And Frenkel went somewhere. It looks like his forecasts are late for 7 years. He predicted a rainy summer in the spring of 2010. Here it came. This spring, he predicted the “ordinary” summer.
In the Russians, they considered the years, the rest of the seasons and during the time was not considered. So, hibernation. However, why in Rus'? We still say: "7 years ago, I am so many years old." And since there will be no summer, then a year is not in the test.
What kind of lead is the Vyatka climate,
Like an eternally stunted plant
Like swamp ailment, like menopause,
Nature is misunderstanding.
You only look at and melts,
Like ice cream, summer
You look, floated to the south of the pack
There are fewer warmth and light.
In the ravines, the tuman shreds,
Stars in the morning in dew in the morning,
And firefly, burning so early
They went out like cigarettes.
All ahead of the dull autumn
Rains and dirt, winds and dampness,
We, like old age, are not asking for her
She broke itself.
Then winter, old is angry,
It will go in snow paranoia
And burning cold
The icy sun will stand.
A blizzard, just go out, will immediately become
Climb under the clothes, beat the chills,
And for many days, like a copper basin,
One will slam everything with a snowdrift.
In the spring we are glad like a bride,
Drowning in the mud and puddles,
Snow, sun, rain, otherwise all together,
Still getting up until May.
And in May, boots in the barn
Do not hide. Heated, pulls into a slumber,
Sleep, quitracks without removing
Only snowfall with the bird cherry flows,
Like from the north, all the way, in a circular one,
Clouds will suddenly be shown angrily,
The rain is pulled.
And the cold cold will break through.
Summer comes to the dank
But it is also very loved,
There is heat and night of light,
More precisely, there is no time for the night.
It soars, flutters, blows,
On a freshly senior hay
Drying drunk, getting into a stronger one,
Than your knees compressed
What's on the back, in the jam of the night,
In the glass sway smoothly.
Who starts life, he wants
Who lived life is even more so.
At one time alone, everything will subside quickly,
Dew, fogs became lower,
The bear drew the water clean,
Ilya lubricated the skis to the Great,
The butterfly hung like a candy wrapper
In the morning, swearing figure
Blows in the fountain of a gray -haired paratrooper,
Summies the janitor in the urn.
Our August, chicken is not a bird
He drinks dew in morning coolness,
Still to sing, but have fun:
“The final. We go out, uncle! "
Transparent darkes Dali,
The clouds drowned gloomily,
They gave me alms,
And they took it away, changing their minds.
I moored the ship to sorrow,
Where rain winds are atrocities,
The season of deaf longing at the beginning,
Again September, what a lead!
Written in the summer of 2010 from RX.
V. Rylov "Passion"