And again in February I recollect you.
I write poems for you.
Happy days of February are short.
February only has had time
To drink a glass of wine
And to hug the new girlfriend,
But already the pipe calls him: «It is time!
Get on the road!»
And February again rides on a horse.
There, ahead, are only woods and a snowy distance,
Ahead, there is no love
And there is no home.
Ah, poor, lovely February,
I very much regret you,
Probably, I would divide with you your destiny.
But he has already dashed away,
Has covered up his traces with snows
He has sent me only greetings from blizzards!
I recollect you, I write poems for you
But I even do not want
To dream of you today.