Making his own way by cold water with splatter. By roof of green leaves it was carefully kept Away from hot beams and the flights of the sand. And many years passed without any faint sound. But a tired stranger from the foreign ground Bent his flaming chest to the pleasant cold water And made his own rest under leaf made shelter. And wonderful leaves and a soundy spring Began to dry out under the hot beams. Then the palms began to complain to the God: "Is this our purpose to fade at this spot? Without any use we were growing and rising Were shivered by wind and by sun were warmed either...

...Прошло тридцать лет. Снова перечитываю эти стихи. И сравниваю свои ощущения с теми, которые описаны авторами учебника в предисловии к нему.