Текст песни Сергей Есенин - Я последний поэт деревни

I am the last poet of the village,
Modest songs boardwalk bridge.
During a farewell stand impoverish
Kadja leafy birches.

Golden flame will burn down
From the solid wax candle,
And the moon watch wooden
Prohripyat my twelfth hour.

On the trail of blue field
Coming soon iron guest
Oat grass, dawn spilled,
It will gather a handful of black.

Not live, someone else palm,
These songs do not live with you!
Only the stalks are-horses
About the old host to grieve.

Will the wind to suck their neighing,
Coping requiem dance.
Soon, soon the clock wooden
Prohripyat my twelfth hour!
& lt; 1920 & gt;