I sit down at the table, the poet, discarding laziness, And tears are dripping on gray paper, Since a sad day has come Russia of the State Flag. Do not tear the shirts and do not get up from the knees, Do not bow to the crowd in the place of the front But for this strange holiday we are all, Literally everything is terribly not convenient. And the one who received as a result Wealth or power beyond measure, He is silent on this holiday in a rag, In order not to recall the start of your career.