To warm light, to my paternal threshold
Wistful sigh of your's pulls me as a rein old.
There on porch my grandfather, grandmother
Wait their frisky grandson, as sunflower.
Their grandson is slim, white as birch, honey hair,
His small hands are like velvet, as ever.
But, my friend, from his blue open eyes -
They may have dreamed all minutes of his life.
Only maiden from icon in corner sends them
Happiness's glare and light of the heaven.
Their grandson she on hands lightly keeps
With a silent smile on her thin, pale lips.
1917
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