Like a wolf, I’m surrounded with flags,
And driven into the cold and deep rupture.
And the yellowish flame of the crack
Has lit up dark outlines of the hunters.

One won’t state that I’m dull or neglectful,
And I’m sad for my song in the past.
But my lot is eternal and excellent —
All the same, I will shoulder my path.

There a hunter is raising his gun,
His wet face is excited and mirthful...
Who’s afraid of the regular gun?
The gun ball can’t take life of a person.