The poem always was for me the form of expression of feelings. In two-three stanzas finds room much – the overflowing emotions asking on will of thought, impetuous passion. Not having possibility to give vent to this all on a paper, for a long time would descend suma from an overabundance of feelings. And so – anything, it was possible to consult. Improbably it would be desirable, not spending, certainly, not deserved analogies to repeat thereupon Sergey Yesenin's words: «as to other autobiographical data, - they in my verses».
Night to me became hated – Presses memories a fog, Expectation has hung, Laughter slides the deceptive. Night of love brings thoughts Also teases voobrazhene. Also draws, as if a brush, Eye liked otrazhene.