And years go as the iron troops,
And air with the iron balls is full.
It is without colour - in water ironing,
And dreamed on the pillow - as pink.
The iron truth - alive for someon e's envy,
Irony is an ovary, irony is a pistil.
And as a gland the poetry is in iron,
Running with tears in the section of outcoming.
Железо - перевод О. Мандельштама
© Copyright: Людмила 31, 2013
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