firing from above
snowballs are tumbling down
are breaking down at our feet.
on the roadway cars are skidding,
slippery, and to home is far.
in the traffic jam, it seems
of more warmly.
we are treading cautiously
and we are finally at home.
we are bustling about at the cooking
and a hot tea is already standing,
and woman in the window TV is telling,
about fashionable winter dresses.
and there is a war, tied with the thin.
tied fancifully scarf.
good to frost, like the one,
which a moment ago, fell asleep, and
is snoring, and I can always be based
on him. is reliable. for good and bad
to every chance... without exception.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem