Once Suppose You've spent your life The study of creativity Some of the great writer. Carefully analyzed his book: System of characters, The commonality of plot conflicts And so on. From the standpoint of a scientist Included even in his family squabbles And been evaluated by a quarrel with his wife. And here it turned out With cogency, One day... (Lord, Support, If it comes "One day", All diligent and modest Historians and theologians) ...That the image of the great writer Hoax. It just wasn't there. He was fictional, And the books are assembled like a mosaic. Your world is falling apart. Sitting on the grass, Squandered fingering Yellow corollas of dandelions, You senselessly repeat: "What is it? How can this be?" And Apple blossom soothing whispers: "Nothing, somehow. Still - spring..."

I draw cherry blossoms I draw a cherry blossom, Not forgetting about the details. White petals, long stamens With tiny gold beads At the ends. Comes out very similar. Circle swirl fires. I, not paying attention, Paint white cherry On a dark purple background.

Aching eyes from the sun I aching eyes from the sun. And aching heart At the thought of enemies Lurking in the underground. I catch in the camera lens Butterfly-chocolate And limonite, And the first green leaves. I hide electronic notebook And compose awkward sad melody, About all of this.

Icy wind Icy wind Sweeps violets. Birds fall silent. Icy wind Is piles of garbage. Debris is flying through the city dump. This is all planned by the dwarfs Damn dwarfs With buttons for eyes. Spring doesn't want to join the fray. She hides behind a cloud. I look at last year's Photos of violets. And my dream is to unpick the buttons, While collecting trophies.

In the yards and alleys In the yards and alleys Dusty small town, Shockingly untidy, Excessive sun (Metallic sun was shining in my eyes Red spots)... Enough North For snow-frosty and snowy winters... I say In the yards of grass breaks. The leaves of dandelions, for example.