We will turn our village
To the abode of dear old people
Wherever we go
Home we all - we will come
Let's open the old gate
We fix the fence with a support
Let's spread the blackberry branches
Tiredly sit on the threshold
currant bushes, raspberries
Nettle evil enveloped
Only trees proudly
Stand like a guard in front of the window
The court of my ancestors is not alien to me
I can hardly hold back my tears
Longing squeezes my chest
And I'll stay here it seems
Everything is native here, clean air
I have planted trees here.
Here my heart does not hurt
And everything is dear and sweet to me
Absurdly flipped through life
All people companion fate
To whom - she gave me what she deserved
I threw others where
No more youth here
And weddings are long forgotten
We see off the elderly
There, where the doors are open to everyone.
Evgenia Davydovna Sevastova (Spitari)
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