Stirred in the fire Golden beetles… 
After all, dream of such a Wake sometimes:
Cat Matroskin in the garden created kebabs
And crunchy frogs filed on the second.
Ball bone gnawed, the postman was humming,
Cindy laughed silver Alta… 
And then not entered the the impression in file,
Too many, they said, they have gigabytes… 
My soul became brighter and warmer,
And Oleg Tabakov smiled from the portrait.
Somehow, out of all his wonderful roles
It is this one that is imprinted in the memory,
As if in a grouchy voice he poured out the whole… 
Nowhere from love him our not escape.
Behind the screen, but nearby. Still here.
Forever. The epitome of our childhood.

Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.

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