She served on Kirovskaya, on the postage, left in the hall, in the nineteenth window,
And nothing in her, it seems, was there, but imagine, I needed it.
There was a dead sweater on it, she tied it itself, cold tea stood on a table, from the corner.
She worked and did not raise her eyes, and she raised her eyes on me.
I became in the tail and wrote a shameless handwriting on a telegram, I remember nine words,
She took and burned, and read: "I love you, what is your name and all business!"
And then she looked with her gray, said: “Tosya,” and my handwriting tore,
At the same time, imagine, blushed and turned away to some goat.
And at seven o'clock, when in the post office, she closed the telegraph window,
And I - I am waiting for it at the main entrance and buy all the cloves near the metro.
And we went, we talked about this and rendered at the table in the beer,
Then this, imagine, was a time when we did not fight the beer with the whole country.
We are with her registers, but of course, we didn’t go and I don’t know why I was stunned?
And there was nothing in it that there were no others, but this one regretted this one.
Well, here the story about Tosu ended and this day stretched for thousand days,
And I am without Toshi anyway as in interrogation, but how she is - you better cope with her!
