Hello! My name is Sergei. On the virulence of a juniper grove Autumn, the red mare, walks modestly Dropping leaves from its mane on the ground. And the clang of its hoofs is heard In the mist of the river banks Where no settle b end up goes round. But the wanderer, it raises the foliage On the roads and rustles it, Contemporary on foot grain by means of bit. And it kisses the wounds of the Christ On the mountain ash tree That are burning scarlet
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