I was forever resurrected with the drunken spring, forgetting my fear, and on the day ahead, endured as if by the bird's flight, I buried hell and the dark in myself... She came, gentle and so clean, whispered to me in the evening, on a pale moon, that she gave me everything I still miss, and my presence would be there until I die... Then I forgot myself even, and barefooted, danced among the golden drops of wine, so who would try my flesh to crush when the soul was a drop of rain?! And in the summer, a thousand suns grabbed me, and with a flower crown of June rays, I distracted the mists---uninvited guests and purples, sending to the scorching days... In my palms, into fires, turned, and all the woes--- at sunset dust, I suddenly felt, in a dog's sleep, that my only and perceptible sin was not in the heart, and there was no sense, because I could not stop fate and I cried then, "Life was written by someone else, but I will build it!" She shook furiously, and wildly on the ground and somewhere down, amid dark bowels, amid fire and butterflies, in a bewitching glance, with a trail of dead and rosy leaves, she, my autumn--- rainy and young, lit up in red silvery twilight, and seemed to take from the lines--- the traces of that purified weeping... And I was warmed up by the sun, veiled in sweat-drops, stretched out longing and baited hands, in life, I stepped on to near glory, and never became a child again... I woke up as if for a fresh start, and iced, cunning and evil, of winter---daring, and spirit and body...finally ready to be a man! But I'm still resurrecting with the drunken spring and summer. I wait---to be good, for autumn love others beg me, and with the pulse of winter, arrive many happy creations!
