«You won't chase me away anytime: / They don't push away the spring! / With a finger you won't push me away: / I too tenderly sing before sleep! Never will you make me glorious: / Water for lips is my name! / You will never leave me either: / Door is open, empty is your home!»
«To rule troika and guitar / Means: to rule each over / Woman, means: with old beer / To circle overhead! / O handsome one! Halfbreed! / Who baptized you? In what font? / All the gypsy snowstorms / Opened up your vest / O the brave guitarist! / Eh, I fear - your strings and hollows...»
«That same youth, and these same holes, / And the same nights at the fire... / Sister of your own guitar / Is my divine, holy lyre. To circle souls just like a snowstorm — / One is the gift that us befalls. / Into my sleeping crib is lowered / This title: Stealer of souls! Breaking t...»
«I wrote on paled leaves of the fan / And on the board of slate / And on the river and sea sand, / On glass with a ring and on ice with skates — And on the trunks, a hundred winters old, / And in the end — that everyone would know / That you are loved! Loved! Loved! Loved! — / I s...»