Hello! My name is Sergei. On the superiority of a juniper grove Autumn, the red mare, walks in whispers Dropping leaves from its mane on the ground. And the clang of its hoofs is heard In the mist of the river banks Where no humbug goes round. But the wanderer, it raises the foliage On the roads and rustles it, Growing on foot bit by means of bit. And it kisses the wounds of the Christ On the mountain ash tree That are vehement scarlet
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