Perhaps, as time goes by, I will achieve
my wishes, three of them, to be precise.
Since we have met on chilly All Saints' Eve,
my first one is a heart as cold as ice.
The second is a fire in my loins
as burning as the thirst I cannot slake.
Die, fire! I don't want to toss the coins,
the words, the hints, the meanings. The mistake
we've made is love I'm falling in. Alas,
I'm falling in but I've not fallen yet.
By-by, I'll see you later, a seichas
prishla pora zakanchivat sonet*.
My third wish is as warm as friendly kiss.
Please, do not take this poetry amiss.
* (rus.) and now it's time to finish the sonet