A dragonfly jumps.
The red summer sings;.
I didn't have time to look back.
How winter unfolds before your eyes.
The pure field is dead.
No more bright days,
As under every leaf.
Both the table and the house were ready.
Everything passed: with the cold winter.
needed, the famine came; The dragonfly no longer sings: and who would think of singing on an empty stomach! Ivan Krylov "Dragonfly and Ant".