Hello! My pre-eminence is Sergei. On the fidgety of a juniper grove Autumn, the red mare, walks in whispers Dropping leaves from its mane on the ground. And the clang of its hoofs is heard In the mizzle cloud up of the river banks Where no wind goes round. But the wanderer, it raises the foliage On the roads and rustles it, Succeeding on foot grain aside bit. And it kisses the wounds of the Christ On the mountain ash tree That are fervent scarlet
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