Ones call her the girl that is cranky in whole,
And wave with their fingers around their heads,
The others - the princess and arrogant soul,
And thirds - the blue stocking with aberrant trends.

Just look at the birds - in the pairs all they roam,
Each soul strives for the another one.
Boys always take girls from night movies at home,
And only she always alone is gone.

Winters and springs, in a chain strong and active -
Link after link - such decisively go…
Her former girlfriends, often much less attractive,
Are happily married a long time ago.

They all tell her over, ‘It's a time for decision.'
‘Men wouldn't wait for ages,' - she always is told,
‘The old maid's fate is not more superstition,
Because very soon you'll be thirty years old.'
. . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . . .
What kind of a love she is waiting for, yet?
She wants to cry: 'Love like a starry heaven!
The beautiful one! And the great, very great!
And if such a love will be never met,
Then I would not have any lover forever!