Burn, my star, do not fall...

The truly folk poet Sergey Yesenin — a "hooligan" and a "scandalist", but also a subtle lyricist who sang the sorrowful expanses of Russia, the dark taverns of the big city, and the "gold of withering". In 1924, at the sunset of his short life, Yesenin wrote: "The clusters of rowan will not burn, / The grass will not perish from the yellowness. / Just as a tree quietly drops its leaves, / So I drop my sad words...". The collection you hold in your hands is an opportunity to listen to the "sad words" of your favorite poet, to appreciate the full power and inexhaustible freshness of his gift.