For Evgenia, nicknamed Misyus
I\'m already beginning to forget about the house with the mezzanine,
Misyus, where are you?
And only occasionally, when I write or read in the parlour alone,
Misyus, where are you?
Suddenly, out of the blue, I remember with sorrow
Misyus, where are you?
Now the sound of my footsteps, now the green light in the window,
Misyus, where are you?
The footsteps that resounded in the field at night, timidly in amour
Misyus, where are you?
Returning home, rubbing my hands from the rigor
Misyus, where are you?
And even more rarely, in moments when loneliness torments me,
Misyus, where are you?
And I\'m sad, I remember vaguely, and little by little as a miph
Misyus, where are you?
For some reason, it begins to seem to me that she remembers me too,
Misyus, where are you?
She is waiting for me and that we will meet... vainly dream is not tabu
Misyus, where are you?
Misyus, where are you? Where?
No answer! Still no answer…