Текст песни С.Есенин - Письмо деду....

Letter to my grandfather

I left
Born home.
Golubchik! Granddad!
I'm writing to you again ...
Under your windows
Now the snowstorms whistle,
And in the chimney
A long howl and noise,

As if a hundred devils
Climbed to the attic.
And you do not sleep all night
And you jerk off with your foot.
And you want
Throw your jacket,
To go there,
Beat all the pits.

Naivety is sweet
An untouched soul!
Not for nothing, great-grandfather
For oats three measures
You drove to the sexton
In an abandoned wilderness
Teach: "It is worth eating"
And with the "Father" "The Symbol of Faith".

A good horse is grazing.
Select feed
He has love bail.
And, myself
Calling on the court,
The same
You began to teach a grandson.

But the grandson of this
Not comprehended
And, to your bitterness,
I left for someone else's country.
In your opinion, now
I wander about a tramp,
Composing in thoughts
Unnecessary stupid verse.

You say:
What have you stolen,
That I'm a fool,
A city - a rogue and a mot.
But only, grandfather,
Hardly so, hardly -
Bad horse
The thief will not take you away.

Bad horse
From the yard you can not drive,
But he who wants to
Know another smooth surface,
He will say:
So as not to rot in the backwater,
Country native
We must leave.

So I threw it.
I'm in a distant country.
Spring.
Here roses are more than a fist.
And I'm yours
The fate of a lonely
Hi their warm
I'm going from afar.

Now the blizzard
Whistles whistles in Ryazan,
And you have -
Me see the itch.
But you in fact know -
No sledges
You here
I will not be brought to see me.

I know -
You'd come to the roses,
To warmth.
But only trouble:
Your curse
The power of the locomotive
You forever
Will not move anywhere.

And if I die?
Do you hear, grandfather?
Will I die?
You will sit or not in the car,
To attend
At the funeral wedding
And to sing in the last
Sadness to me "Hallelujah"?

Then sit down, old man.
Sit down without tears,
Trust you
A steel mare.
Ah, what a horse,
What a horse is a horse!
She, probably,
In Germany we bought it.

Cast-iron mouth of her
Accustomed to the fire,
And the smoke above it, like a mane, -
Cheren, dense and clear.
Such a mane
Our horse, -
That's how many came out
Different mops and brushes!

I know -
Time even crumbles a stone ..
And you, old man,
One day you will understand,
What, even better
Harnessing a sleigh horse,
To the distant edge
Only bones you will bring ...

You will understand also that,
That I left not without reason
There, where run
Faster than flying.
In a country embraced by a blizzard
And fire,
Bad horse
The thief will not take you away.

S. Yesenin