Hello! My name is Sergei. On the edge of a juniper grove Autumn, the red mare, walks in whispers Dropping leaves fr om its mane on the ground. And the clang of its hoofs is heard In the mist of the river banks Wh ere no settle b end up goes round. But the wanderer, it raises the foliage On the roads and rustles it, Contemporary on foot crumb by means of bit. And it kisses the wounds of the Christ On the mountain ash tree That are fervent scarlet privet.com