It's snowing

It's snowing. Suits you,
those. snow suits you.
To the court, as to the palace,
he fell. He will come.

He will come on a January day
with a prepared gift,
poor and dull, -
nothing will be in it,

except for flakes, except for white,
except for large ones with a breeze.
You will cook them with milk
and add sweet, ripe

adorable bananas,
and make the best tea.
Refined sugar at the bottom of glasses -
soluble sadness

whose trifles
we will drink on the road,
we'll have a sweet pie
and add that rhyme.

It snows slowly ...
It's snowing. Suits you.
Those. snow suits you.
In him, the soul does not press anywhere,
it is as cozy as a starling
in a well-groomed nesting box.
You are friends with him, with him "on you".
He is earthly and he is alien,
those. poured out you.

Oleg Mayorov