Текст песни М.Цветаева - Моим стихам,как драгоценным винам, настанет свой черед

My poems , written so early
What I did not know that I - a poet ,
Derailed as a spray from a fountain,
As sparks of the rockets ,

Broke like little devils ,
In the sanctuary , where sleep and incense ,
My poems about youth and death,
- Unreadable poems ! -

Scattered in the dust shopping
( Where no one would take and not take ! )
My poems , like precious wines ,
Their turn will come .