from nowhere with love, Marchoсtober teenth
lovely, dear, my honey - truly, whatever
even who, for the features of face to me
can't recall, not yours  but I dare
say that no one's true friend gratulates you from shelf
one of five,  with which cowboys are busy
I loved you more than angels and Lord Himself
thereupon I'm further from you than from either
far away, in the night, in the valley, the very sole
in a town choked up with the snow to the door handle
on the sheet writhing under night's pall
as below I'm no words about am spending
I am mucking the pillow with mooing you                                  
behind mountains whose  bottom no one can meter
in the darkness with my whole body  your view                             
as delirious mirror fitting

перевод

http://www.stihi-rus.ru/1/br/18.htm