Hello! My name is Sergei. On the edge 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 becloud of the river banks Where no hear on the grapevine goes round. But the wanderer, it raises the foliage On the roads and rustles it, Growing on foot grain by bit. And it kisses the wounds of the Christ On the mountain ash tree That are vehement scarlet
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