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Slova - eto to edinstvennoe, chto ostaetsya na veka. - U. Hezlitt

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     Osen'

Oranzhevo-krasnoe nebo
Poryvistyj veter kachaet
Krovavuyu grozd' ryabiny,
Dogonyayu bezhavshuyu loshad'
Mimo stekol oranzherei,
Reshetki starogo parka
I lebedinogo pruda.
Kosmataya, ryzhaya ryadom
Nesetsya moya sobaka,
Kotoraya mne milee
Dazhe rodnogo brata,
Kotoruyu budu pomnit',
Esli ona podohnet.
Stuk kopyt uchastilsya,
Pyl' vse vyshe.
Trudno presledovat' loshad'
CHistoj arabskoj krovi.
Pridetsya prisest', pozhaluj,
Zadohnuvshis', na kamen'
SHirokij i ploskij,
I udivlyat'sya tupo
Oranzhevo-krasnomu nebu,
I tupo slushat'
Krichaschij pronzitel'no veter.
                         
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