Не лякайся, біль минає -
                                                                              в нього іграшок чимало,
                                                           от і ми вже не сигналим,
                                                                              і зламалися немов...
                                                           Ще повернуться до себе
                                                                              наші душі, що співали,
                                                           на залишену нам вічність
                                                                              теплих вистачить розмов.
                                                           Вип'єм кримського сухого,
                                                                              моря вчуємо безмежжя,
                                                           з гамівних сорочок стане
                                                                              на вітрила полотна...
                                                           Ти помітила, що третій
                                                                              в небесах за нами стежить,
                                                           не хвилюйся - він не зайвий,
                                                                              подорожній буде нам.
 

                                                                                              Перекладено 21 липня 2010 року.
                                                                                              Олександр Кабанов, 1996р.
 

                                                                                                                   Ты не бойся, боль уходит -
                                                                                                                                       у нее полно игрушек,
                                                                                                                    ну а мы почти сломались,
                                                                                                                                        не сигналим, не юлим...
                                                                                                                    Это значит, к нам вернутся
                                                                                                                                        наши проданные души,
                                                                                                                    всю оставшуюся вечность
                                                                                                                                        по душам поговорим.
                                                                                                                    Выпьем крымского сухого,
                                                                                                                                        морем легкие проветрим,
                                                                                                                    из смирительных рубашек
                                                                                                                                        паруса соорудим...
                                                                                                                    Ничего, что кто-то третий
                                                                                                                                        в небесах следит за этим,
                                                                                                                    ты не бойся - Он не лишний,
                                                                                                                                        Он сопутствует двоим.