On a walk, through the body of snowbanks,
I drag a long shadow beside me.
While the skyscrapers, looking so somber,
Would no longer wish to keep silent.
Now they shake - and with one yellow eye,
These crooked ones, after me spy…
And soon, with a frightening story
They’ll make even darkness get worried.
The gates would gape wide for the thief,
In a wolf’s form the shadow would creep,
And in moments the whole motley pack
Apprehends her within perfect dark.
It’s a shame, it’s a pain, it’s a pity!
As if I was the person at fault,
Whenever a shelter-less wolf gets
Beaten badly by big city homes.
- November of 1919, Moscow