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Literature Text
Осень плачет, плачет, плачет,
Так протяжно и тоскливо.
Под платочек серый прячет
Рыжих кудрей переливы
Строго смотрит на прохожих,
Что привыкли к ярким краскам.
Сторонится дней погожих,
Хоть скучает по их ласкам
Осень с плеском погрузилась
Во страдания и горе.
Вот от злата открестилась
И живет с собой в раздоре
Чье-то треснуло сердечко
Под наплывом грустных мыслей.
Кто-то ей не то словечко
Бросил, да она раскисла
Расплылась по черным лужам
Развезлась в болотной ряске
Разлетелась ранней стужей
И размазала все краски.
Плачет осень, не стихая,
Разобидевшись на счастье,
Что, ее мольбы не зная,
Ей не подарило страсти.
Смотрит осень на влюбленных,
На зонты, где двое вместе,
И с тоскою обреченных
Плачет о себе-невесте.
Так протяжно и тоскливо.
Под платочек серый прячет
Рыжих кудрей переливы
Строго смотрит на прохожих,
Что привыкли к ярким краскам.
Сторонится дней погожих,
Хоть скучает по их ласкам
Осень с плеском погрузилась
Во страдания и горе.
Вот от злата открестилась
И живет с собой в раздоре
Чье-то треснуло сердечко
Под наплывом грустных мыслей.
Кто-то ей не то словечко
Бросил, да она раскисла
Расплылась по черным лужам
Развезлась в болотной ряске
Разлетелась ранней стужей
И размазала все краски.
Плачет осень, не стихая,
Разобидевшись на счастье,
Что, ее мольбы не зная,
Ей не подарило страсти.
Смотрит осень на влюбленных,
На зонты, где двое вместе,
И с тоскою обреченных
Плачет о себе-невесте.
Literature
Things they don't tell you.
Things they don’t tell you about losing your grandfather on a Tuesday night:
When you wake the next morning, you still
need to get out of bed in time for work, you still
have to shower, dress yourself, eat breakfast, brush
your teeth and hair;
and when your mother calls
to check in, you have to comfort her because she lost
her dad last night;
and when you call your grandmother
your voice cannot waver lest you upset her, because
she lost a man she's known for seventy years and even
though she would never hold it against you, you still
feel obligated not to cry;
Literature
I'll Wait by the Water
This is the place where our memories began.
A creek at the bottom of a canyon,
red cliffs on either side and a giant
pond dam to the north that wildflowers grow on.
Paths that we created through the woods
and up and down those copper canyon walls
while we pretended to be wild Injuns
or wanted outlaws being hunted by a posse.
You were on your knees,
in the middle of the creek,
when I found you.
A neighbor girl, trespassing.
I had a mind to chase you off
until I asked what you were doing.
You looked at me, smiled, and said,
"Catching crawdads. Come help!"
After that day, we spent Springs and Summers
building fort walls and chasing frogs,
s
Literature
Last Call for Tanner Lee
Tanner left the hospital feeling strangely empty. He had expected agony. From the moment he had heard the Code Blue declared over the intercom and been forced out of Leah’s room (Room 318; he would never forget that number, or the feel of the sheets beneath his hands), he had known his life was coming to an end. They did not give up, and he gave them credit for that, but there is only so much time and effort a doctor can put into saving someone who is determined to die, and twelve hours later, Tanner and the bag of Leah’s effects sat in the back of a cab, on their way home. He would have to plan a funeral. Of course she had no lif
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Comments5
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The translation according to translate.yandex.com/
seems to be like a good basis for rendering to english.
Did you try it?
seems to be like a good basis for rendering to english.
Did you try it?