Actually I liked only you,
my ideal and my criterion.
In all my women there were your lines,
and it with them reconciled me.
While you there, are obedient to the passions,
you fly between Orse and Prado, -
I, it is possible to tell, brought together you in parts.
Sounds awfully, but it is the truth.
One it is snub-nosed, another with a birthmark on a back,
the third is able to accept everything as a reality.
One not чает souls in itself, another — in me
(together any more didn't come across).
One, as you, from a forehead отдувает a lock,
another eternally loses keys,
and that I never could collect in one all this -
so God of mistakes doesn't repeat.
And even your soul, to which you
allowed me time three through all obstacles, -
remained here, having embodied in all fresh flowers
and all faulty phones.
And you were afraid that I will miss here,
tips to itself offering.
And heavy rain, and prices, and these shahids, and Rospechat?
God with you, you with me, my dear.
