Forgetting Chekhov I go against the rules, In the kitchen with belomorinoy per night of five times. The roof is gone, Address has not left, And I do not know where to look for it now. The gateway on the forehead hit Will be me, a sinner, : Help, pigeons, The citizens of heart, If the roof will meet I m looking for it And how I loved her From shingles to the rafters, From streams of smoke from the chimney to hay I went with her an