I used to read Pushkin all night till sunrise -
About the green oak and golden chain on it.
And now I’m by the Seaside,
Along the Pushkin places on a business trip.

To bewitching potion 
I prefered beer and mead,
Though Pushkin wrote: 
"Nothing got into his mouth, not a bit..."

In truth, the beer, as luck would have it,
It became bitter,
You can’t let it all be spilled
Straight to anywhere!

I used to work at water-power plant, thermal power plant and on the channels,
I have seen all, but here I was speechless:
The green oak, all of it, was covered with initials,
And Kolya Volkov here was a great success.

To bewitching potion 
I prefered beer and mead,
Though Pushkin wrote: 
"Nothing got into his mouth, not a bit..."

In truth, the beer, as luck would have it,
It became bitter,
You can’t let it all be spilled
Straight to anywhere!

And in my hot poetic veins,
Excited utterly after visiting the pub,
I began frantically digging in old memories
But, it seems, I had a bitter path.

To bewitching potion 
I prefered beer and mead,
Though Pushkin wrote: 
"Nothing got into his mouth, not a bit..."

In truth, the beer, as luck would have it,
It became bitter,
You can’t let it all be spilled
Straight to anywhere!

On the unseen path there were lying empty cans,
They have never seen here, the huts on the chicken’s legs,
I’ve stumbled on two skinny March cats1,
I asked them to sing, but without any success.

To bewitching potion 
I prefered beer and mead,
Though Pushkin wrote: 
"Nothing got into his mouth, not a bit..."

In truth, the beer, as luck would have it,
It became bitter,
You can’t let it all be spilled
Straight to anywhere!