Somehow I became less frequent ,
Somehow , dreaming,
And more and more often -
To think about eternity.
All patients and patients
Someone to lose
Harder and harder to
Seem nonchalant .
Whether to enjoy , whether sad or something,
Kohl soul responds
To everything that was happening to her .
On funny news, whether on fresh wounds .
That verse , the song ,
That faceted glass .
No , the mirrors do not lie
And the gray hair - yours,
And the wrinkles on her face -
Not from the pillow ,
After all, does not lie,
Yes, and can not be friends ,
But if you live, so
That was not boring .
And , thank God, so far -
Everything I wanted .
Sons grow up ,
Like mushrooms,
Yes, and I'm still not old
And yet sang the
His last song
The last line .