Tenderness by Leonid Martinow

You have faded. I am a wanderer, brown entirely.

It will be unpleasant for us to meet again now.

Only tenderness, once forgotten here in,

Makes me want to go back and allow.

I will enter without  hello, I will say loudly such:

- The watchman is sleeping, the door is open, what negligence!

Don't you turn pale! Do not be you  afraid! I don't threaten you much!

But I ask you: give me your ex-prior  tenderness.

I'll take it to t’attic and put it in the gloom,

Where the mouse has settled in the porous  boot now.

I'll take the old tenderness to the attical room,

So that street children don't find it no how…