On Birthday

Birthday no doubt
philosophical day of the year.
By it we measure
life main feature.

We remember the time of childhood,
the time of the youth of hoppy,
and, in the end, we are indignant,
that there is no such picture.

We would like to return
into that forgotten, glorious world,
when burdens, worries,
evaporated as ether.

When life was careless,
without suffering, without blues,
and seemed endless,
so beautiful for the time being.

When it was believed that it would be
happiness somewhere ahead.
It turned out everything, corny,
far, there, behind.