Then Lina read her soul,
She poured her poems —
Woke yours,
She urged me to understand myself.

Who are you? What is it called for?
It does not hurt to walk along its paths.
What pattern is still not woven,
May your conscience advise you.

Find yourself and help me.
Do not be ashamed of the primitive.
Lina multiplied and you multiply,
You and I need words of poetry.