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Look, what an autumn! After bathhouse
a glass of vodka sweetly goes.
I’ll start preparing a firm sledge,
not to be caught by heavy snows.

The whole day is whirling in troubles,
so that my head is going round –
to stain anew the gates and fencing,
to chop the firewood I’m bound.

Cooking preserves and drying mushrooms,
not to be lost in cold and darkness –
and to oblivion ready getting,
as to a winter never ending.

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