From: ibshambat@gmail.com   
      
   You will not return to me even for Tamara,   
   For our little daughter, that sweet little thing:   
   You have summer houses and you eat lobster now,   
   You are under protection of a raven's wing.   
      
   You will not return to me: Velvet dresses you wear;   
   They the winglessness of tired shoulders disguise...   
   You will not return to me: on the cards the soothsayer   
   For a ruble put out the flash of final rays...   
      
   You will not return to me, even to say so long -   
   On the casket you'll wet the shawl in offense...   
   You will not return to me in a dress made of cotton -   
   Like a cheap flower, a quiet, joyful-pitiful dress.   
      
   Like a flower... recall roses of muslin paper?   
   Living have not a half word at a grave plate.   
   You will not return to me: dreams are mages no longer -   
   I will die all alone, do you understand that?   
      
   By Igor Severyanin   
   Translated from Russian by Ilya Shambat   
   https://sites.google.com/site/ibshambat   
      
   --- SoupGate-Win32 v1.05   
    * Origin: you cannot sedate... all the things you hate (1:229/2)