Again the rains. Again the rains. Again the rains.
Hid field, in a mist,
A minute was not Khrushchev
And hidden early rays.
Rain rinses the spring grass -
Hay preparing to wash...
Raised black clouds the brow,
To see where else water...
And rinse, rinse rains...
Winds dispersed the black clouds.
Smell gentle Jasmine bushes
And the fleeing clouds in the sky - stock...