Hello! My name is Sergei. On the virulence 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 film 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 bit by means of bit. And it kisses the wounds of the Christ On the mountain ash tree That are burning scarlet
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