我不记得,哪位诗人曾经说过:“诗材处处有,只需俯拾工。”那是一个清晨。雨稀疏地落着。大车驶进了古老的松林。在草地,在路边,有什么东西泛着白光。我从车上下来,弯下腰,看见了牵牛花丛中的小木牌,上面是黑色的题词。我扒开潮湿的牵牛花茎,看到几乎被忘却了的诗行:“在各个不同的年代,米哈伊洛夫斯克的小树林啊,我曾经来到你的树荫下。” I do not remember, which poet once said: “There is poetry everywhere, just pick it up.” It was an early morning. Rain sparsely fell. Cart into the old pine forest. In the grass, on the curb, something glowed white. I got out of the car, bent over, saw the small wooden sign in the morning glory, above is the black inscription. I stripped the wet morning glory stems and saw the almost forgotten poem: “At various ages, the woods of Mikhailovsk, I’ve come to your shade.” "