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THE SONG

 Sailor, my dear, my heaven-made spouse! 
 There is one thing that I beg of you, man: 
 Kiss any strangers, and give them your flowers, 
 love many women.
But, pray, don't love one.
These are the words that I send with my letter, piercing land after land they will moan; stay there as long as you wish, and you'd better love all the countries, but, pray, don't love one.
Give me a whistle -- when tired of roving.
Held in sweet bondage, or about to drown, play with your life as you wish, when you're roaming, but don't ruin ours because it is one.
© Copyright Alec Vagapov's translation

by Andrei Voznesensky
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