The beauty of the Homeland where you spent your childhood.
Защемило сердце почему- то, Хочется до боли и до слёз Хоть на миг попасть, хоть на минуту В ту деревню – остров моих грёз. Где друзья, соседи, все родное, Где тепло в метели и в мороз, Где вода, как молоко парное, Где светло от зелени берёз. Где у школы – тополя до неба, На завалинке родня сидит… Как давно на Родине я не был, А она мне душу бередит. (Василий Климов) Как я скучаю по деревне, Тоска в душе хоть волком вой. По той родимой стороне, Где тишь, блаженство и покой. Мне те края ночами снятся, И лес и речка и луга. Места, где аисты гнездятся, И с камышами берега. Где снег зимою, выше крыши, И от мороза дым столбом. А летом в утренней тиши, Поёт луч солнца соловьём. Как я тоскую по деревне, По дому детства своего. Там где за печкой на бревне, Зарубки роста моего. По тем местам, где босиком, С зелёных трав росу сбивая, Я малолетним пастухом, Гонялся в поле, бед не зная. Где я ведёрко с клюквой нёс, По не замёрзшему болоту. Иль поутру, на лыжах, в лес, С отцом и дедом на охоту. Как я грущу по той деревне, Где пахнет сеном с молоком. Там где наличник на окне, Мы с дедом ладили вдвоём. Там где уют зимой и летом, И вкусный бабушкин пирог. И где укроет теплым светом, Лишь в дом шагнёшь через порог. Где жаркий дух от русской печки, И чугунки бурля, кипят. Где кот с собакой на крылечке, В обнимку, тихо, мирно спят. Как я скорблю по той деревне, Теперь которой уже нет. Что в чистом утреннем тумане, Во снах я вижу много лет…My heart ached for some reason, I want to hurt and cry Even for a moment to get there, even for a minute To that village-the island of my dreams. Where are your friends, neighbors, and all your relatives, Where is it warm in a blizzard and in the cold?, Where water is like fresh milk, Where it is light from the green birch trees. Where at school-poplars to the sky, On zavalinka relatives sitting… It's been so long since I've been home, And it gives me a hard time." (Vasily Klimov) How I miss the village, Melancholy in the soul though a wolf howl. On the other side of my birthmark, Where there is peace, bliss and peace. I dream of those parts at night, And the forest and the river and the meadows. Places where storks nest, And with the reeds of the shore. Where there is snow in winter, above the roof, And from the frost smoke column. And in the summer in the morning silence, Sunbeam sings like a nightingale. How I miss the country, On the house of his childhood. Where behind the stove on the log, Notches of my father's height. On those places where barefoot, Knocking down the dew from the green grasses, I'm a young shepherd boy, I chased in the field, not knowing anything about it. Where did I carry the bucket of cranberries, On a non-frozen swamp. Or in the morning, on skis, in the forest, With my father and grandfather on a hunting trip. How I miss that village, Where it smells like hay and milk. Where the window trim is, My grandfather and I got along together." Where there is comfort in winter and summer, And a delicious grandma's pie. And where it will cover you with warm light, Only in the house you will step through the threshold. Where is the hot spirit from the Russian stove, And the pots are bubbling and boiling. Where's the cat and dog on the porch, In an embrace, quietly, peacefully sleeping. How I grieve for that village, Now it's gone. What's in a clear morning fog, I've been dreaming for years…My heart ached for some reason, I want to hurt and cry Even for a moment to get there, even for a minute To that village-the island of my dreams. Where are your friends, neighbors, and all your relatives, Where is it warm in a blizzard and in the cold?, Where water is like fresh milk, Where it is light from the green birch trees. Where at school-poplars to the sky, On zavalinka relatives sitting… It's been so long since I've been home, And it gives me a hard time." (Vasily Klimov) How I miss the village, Melancholy in the soul though a wolf howl. On the other side of my birthmark, Where there is peace, bliss and peace. I dream of those parts at night, And the forest and the river and the meadows. Places where storks nest, And with the reeds of the shore. Where there is snow in winter, above the roof, And from the frost smoke column. And in the summer in the morning silence, Sunbeam sings like a nightingale. How I miss the country, On the house of his childhood. Where behind the stove on the log, Notches of my father's height. On those places where barefoot, Knocking down the dew from the green grasses, I'm a young shepherd boy, I chased in the field, not knowing anything about it. Where did I carry the bucket of cranberries, On a non-frozen swamp. Or in the morning, on skis, in the forest, With my father and grandfather on a hunting trip. How I miss that village, Where it smells like hay
Защемило сердце почему- то, Хочется до боли и до слёз Хоть на миг попасть, хоть на минуту В ту деревню – остров моих грёз. Где друзья, соседи, все родное, Где тепло в метели и в мороз, Где вода, как молоко парное, Где светло от зелени берёз. Где у школы – тополя до неба, На завалинке родня сидит… Как давно на Родине я не был, А она мне душу бередит. (Василий Климов) Как я скучаю по деревне, Тоска в душе хоть волком вой. По той родимой стороне, Где тишь, блаженство и покой. Мне те края ночами снятся, И лес и речка и луга. Места, где аисты гнездятся, И с камышами берега. Где снег зимою, выше крыши, И от мороза дым столбом. А летом в утренней тиши, Поёт луч солнца соловьём. Как я тоскую по деревне, По дому детства своего. Там где за печкой на бревне, Зарубки роста моего. По тем местам, где босиком, С зелёных трав росу сбивая, Я малолетним пастухом, Гонялся в поле, бед не зная. Где я ведёрко с клюквой нёс, По не замёрзшему болоту. Иль поутру, на лыжах, в лес, С отцом и дедом на охоту. Как я грущу по той деревне, Где пахнет сеном с молоком. Там где наличник на окне, Мы с дедом ладили вдвоём. Там где уют зимой и летом, И вкусный бабушкин пирог. И где укроет теплым светом, Лишь в дом шагнёшь через порог. Где жаркий дух от русской печки, И чугунки бурля, кипят. Где кот с собакой на крылечке, В обнимку, тихо, мирно спят. Как я скорблю по той деревне, Теперь которой уже нет. Что в чистом утреннем тумане, Во снах я вижу много лет…My heart ached for some reason, I want to hurt and cry Even for a moment to get there, even for a minute To that village-the island of my dreams. Where are your friends, neighbors, and all your relatives, Where is it warm in a blizzard and in the cold?, Where water is like fresh milk, Where it is light from the green birch trees. Where at school-poplars to the sky, On zavalinka relatives sitting… It's been so long since I've been home, And it gives me a hard time." (Vasily Klimov) How I miss the village, Melancholy in the soul though a wolf howl. On the other side of my birthmark, Where there is peace, bliss and peace. I dream of those parts at night, And the forest and the river and the meadows. Places where storks nest, And with the reeds of the shore. Where there is snow in winter, above the roof, And from the frost smoke column. And in the summer in the morning silence, Sunbeam sings like a nightingale. How I miss the country, On the house of his childhood. Where behind the stove on the log, Notches of my father's height. On those places where barefoot, Knocking down the dew from the green grasses, I'm a young shepherd boy, I chased in the field, not knowing anything about it. Where did I carry the bucket of cranberries, On a non-frozen swamp. Or in the morning, on skis, in the forest, With my father and grandfather on a hunting trip. How I miss that village, Where it smells like hay and milk. Where the window trim is, My grandfather and I got along together." Where there is comfort in winter and summer, And a delicious grandma's pie. And where it will cover you with warm light, Only in the house you will step through the threshold. Where is the hot spirit from the Russian stove, And the pots are bubbling and boiling. Where's the cat and dog on the porch, In an embrace, quietly, peacefully sleeping. How I grieve for that village, Now it's gone. What's in a clear morning fog, I've been dreaming for years…My heart ached for some reason, I want to hurt and cry Even for a moment to get there, even for a minute To that village-the island of my dreams. Where are your friends, neighbors, and all your relatives, Where is it warm in a blizzard and in the cold?, Where water is like fresh milk, Where it is light from the green birch trees. Where at school-poplars to the sky, On zavalinka relatives sitting… It's been so long since I've been home, And it gives me a hard time." (Vasily Klimov) How I miss the village, Melancholy in the soul though a wolf howl. On the other side of my birthmark, Where there is peace, bliss and peace. I dream of those parts at night, And the forest and the river and the meadows. Places where storks nest, And with the reeds of the shore. Where there is snow in winter, above the roof, And from the frost smoke column. And in the summer in the morning silence, Sunbeam sings like a nightingale. How I miss the country, On the house of his childhood. Where behind the stove on the log, Notches of my father's height. On those places where barefoot, Knocking down the dew from the green grasses, I'm a young shepherd boy, I chased in the field, not knowing anything about it. Where did I carry the bucket of cranberries, On a non-frozen swamp. Or in the morning, on skis, in the forest, With my father and grandfather on a hunting trip. How I miss that village, Where it smells like hay