Moon

The moon has risen in the October sky.
It has risen and shines like a lantern.
There is probably no one in the world
sadder than it. And in the old days

it shone in exactly the same way:
for Pushkin, and Balzac...
Perhaps even for Lermontov,
who was looking for his star.

And the stars come out at night,
there are countless of them in the sky.
They mysteriously twinkle,
and guard their honor.