---
Во тьме ночной
Пропал пирог мясной.
Пропал бесследно, безвозвратно.
Куда и как девался, непонятно.
---
In the darkness of the night
A meat pie vanished.
It disappeared tracelessly, irrevocably.
It's a mistery (literally it's ununderstandable, one can have no idea) where has it gone.
---
In Russian it rhymes.
Once their mother baked a meat pie meant to be served to the guests and everybody for a supper and his younger brother ate the entire pie secretly he didn't tell anybody and wrote this poem.
As far as I know this was the one and only poem Lenin wrote.
