She wrote detective stories
You could not fail to believe them,
And in the world of adventures and fantasies
She was no less than sheriff.

But life passed regularly… But it happened
All her dreams became possible,
And like a merry bird to fly into the heavens,
Where there is fresh wind and the darkest blue – and there
Is no trace of gloomy weather,
Cold rains do not drizzle,
But expectation of joy and happiness
Shines ahead like the hot sun!

And on the day when all obstacles disappeared…
No one, no one could predict,
A telephone number written on her palm
Would be what helped identify her…

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