Текст песни Хозяйка Медной Горы - Об истинном поэте

If you are a poet,
That should be curly.
If you're not curly,
So not a poet!
Above his head
Winged cow
Circling in waltz
And rustling leaves.

Pushkin was a poet,
Poems were lurking in curls,
Byron on envy
Onegin created.
Byron wept
So I decided to shoot,
But suddenly it was in the fall,
Sonnet he wrote.

Muse under a bush
Beckons with his arms,
The poet goes to the call
Go ahead every day.
Under the scrub grass
And the bitter smell of mint,
A poet and looking for all
At the grass firewood.

sleeve waved
And thrown dice,
Poured poem,
He drowned in glory.
If you are a poet,
That should be curly.
If you're not curly,
So not a poet!
(C) The Mistress of Copper Mountain
Crimea, train, 13.07.2011