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Boris Zakhoder


Box of matches,
He sat down on the Apple tree
A flock of sinick.
Apple - Apple,
Red flank,
And in this bullseye
The worm.
And he says:
- All my ancestors -
From the folder and nurses
To grandmother and Dedkov, -
All in apples,
In apples,
Apples lived -
And ate apples,
Apples and drank.
I life begin another:
Want to beat the living crap!
Great! Pork!

And here he is with Apple
Suho said goodbye
And in the far journey
Boldly went...
He wandered for a long time
White light
And everywhere were looking for
And finally,
He is, alive and well,
Sits down at table
In any dining room.

Immediately Cook
To him it flies,
Menu delivers.
And in the menu it reads...
Oh the horror!
Accident threw in the pot
"Jam from apples.
Apple - compote.
Huge selection
Different apples:
And fresh,
And flabby...
And Apple pudding.
And Apple juice.
From apples -
And mousse,
And the cake!"
Here and get
From old habits!
It's a shame-a shame,

Poems about insects: sorting
the names of the authors

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