Стая

Last leaves . Last autumn. Last blood.
Last running , and gray hair gets in sight
Cock crows , and in a fit of pain seemed again
How were you cub that could not yet biting .
And would howl " for what? " , But you know that there is no pity to predators
Not in the wilds of the forest , or in concrete boxes in big cities.
But only one you can make people forget this light :
While you are looking for, go cubs Path wolves.

And after some half a year over the world will come in April ,
Cold River , waking up , leaving their shores ,
And the new leader will be a little sad to look into the cradle ,
And the new song will be unfurled to the moon , riddled with clouds .
And it seems strange that the death of the soul, shrugging off the ban ,
Are clad in gray skin , with a set of claws and teeth .
And the only thing you can get to love this light :
Shrugging off prohibitions cubs go Path wolves.

That barking behind and September Palen wool smell
Mingled hours and minutes , the hunters something to shout ...
And you will smile at the memory of leaving grin on canines ,
Wistfully remembering the last time their naughty cubs .
After wolf wolf trails on the same track masterfully confused :
Once came and veins zapleschetsya predatory blood ...
And a brave hunter bent over the corpse . You are no more .
Minute of silence - the cubs go Path wolves.