Hello! My name is Sergei. On the edge of a juniper grove Autumn, the red mare, walks quietly 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 humbug goes round. But the wanderer, it raises the foliage On the roads and rustles it, Growing on foot crumb by means of bit. And it kisses the wounds of the Christ On the mountain ash tree That are fervent scarlet
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