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Yosef  Latman

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(Free translation  from Russian by the author  Yosef  Latman)

Blushed shyly the  foliage of autumn grove, 

By the winter  dropping the garment her own...
The dull autumn easier and thinner, 
Than  the first blazing  flowering spring day. 

The fields, warming in the arms of  fog, by  luck,                  
Are sleeping until morning, languid, barely breathing,        
The trees, are swaying gently, as if a bit drunk,                          
Are throwing the golden  leaves, rustling.                                                    

Rushing rain guttering to the garden beds.                          
Windows  like ancient, from mica, barrier.                  
In a non-woven carpets, as if in a crib,                                  
Fosters night Starfall icy. Night, as harrier.                        
Marсh  2020

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