She walks along the autumn boulevard

In her exquisite white coat.

She basks and luxuriates in greedy gazes.

They intoxicate her like wine.

And everyone looks at her with admiration,

Wanting to possess the unique one.

There are many—those ready for temptation,

And all she has to do is choose.

Like a spider, she weaves attraction,

And then drinks her victims' blood to the dregs.

And each new one promises adventure,

And gives what she commands. specially for etales.ru

They fly to her like butterflies to a flame,

Only seemingly tender. Slaves to madness.

She, however, puts checkmarks in her memory—

For some, tears; for others, graves…

And she pities no one. Why pity?

And she can't blame herself, can she?

There have always been enough fools ready to fly,

Not afraid to burn in the fire.

Though, the wretch does have a heart.

It is ready to surrender to passions,

To overflow with delight, to hope…

But HE doesn't love… So to hell with him.