Measured with an eye.
A chuckle over his mustache.
Shrugged epaulette sewing:
"So I -
oh gentlemen! —
this very?
So I
not smog
this one?!»
And it seemed -
burial mound grows
in the midst of the winds.
Lies in the coffin,
and from now on
no one,
never,
nothing
won't hear
about our Ivan.