As usual, what we have here is a reasonably well known poem translated from English to a randomly selected language via Babelfish, then back again.
This time it’s translated into Russian and back, but it shouldn’t take all of the Brothers Karamazov to figure out. As usual, the first person to answer correctly wins a fabulous set of nothing:
I think never that I will not see
poem likable as shaft.
Shaft of companies of which hungry prest
against the sweet of earth’ breast s passing;
Shaft which looks god entire day,
I raise its leafy handles in order to pray;
Shaft which can in the wear of the summer
Of gnezdy of robins in its hair;
To whose snow of bosom it lay;
Who tightly lives with the rain.
Poems are made by fools as I,
but only god can make a shaft.