Where there is no life, there is drought, fear and gray endsThe direction of the river does not stop at a disobedient stone, a barrierAnd the wind does not calm down in response to the screams of those who are afraid of itHave you considered, oh poets of the sober word, what stands behind the curtain of your books that are awaiting the coming winter stove?When the wise man laid the corner brick, poetry was synonymous with the philosophy of his optimistic sense of reviving the desperate love.
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