Кто любит прачку, кто любит маркизу, У каждого...

Who loves the laundress, who loves the marquis,
Everyone has their own dope, -
And I love concierge Lisa,
We have an autumn novel.
Let Liza in the quarter be reputed to be touchy, -
Funny love show!
But all the same secret from the mother strict
She resorts more than once.
I take off my mandolin from the wall,
I twist zalibachski us ...
I gave her everything: a portrait of Korolenka
And a string of green beads.
Quietly, quietly, hugging each other,
Gnawing salted almonds.
We are playing the November fugu,
We are warm Russian shawl.
And Lizin the cat, sneaking behind her,
Bypasses and sniffs the floor.
And suddenly, mockingly neck arched,
Sits before us on the table.
Chimney cactus pulls us prickles,
And the kettle grumbles like a bumblebee ...
Lisa has wonderful warm hands
And in each eye - a gazelle.
For us there is no twentieth century,
And we don’t feel sorry for the past:
We are two Robinson, we are two people,
Gnawing quietly almonds.
But in the front floorboards creak,
The doors opened the door ...
And Lisa leaves, with downcast eyelashes,
For her strict mother.
On the old table the books are turned upside down
A handkerchief is lying on the floor.
There are sticky figs on the hat,
And the chair is knocked over in the corner.
For clarity, after her departure,
I still have to say
That Lisa is three and a half years old ...
Why do we have to hide the truth?