30 lines
744 B
Plaintext
30 lines
744 B
Plaintext
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Her letter to the front
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If you're hurt, my dear, the war,
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Write about it all means to me.
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I'll tell you in the same evening.
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It will be warm, affectionate response.
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Like, they are wound sooner or later,
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And love, my dear, does not go there.
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If you change, to meet a friend,
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And this in the letters they write, dear.
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Write, I will answer, but not in the same evening,
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Just be sure that the answer will come.
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But the wound is too late or too early -
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Pogruschu, cry - still pass!
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But do not try to just give a hint to me
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On the other changes - an oath in the war!
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In no coward evening I will not answer,
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I have for the coward, there is one answer:
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All wounds are too late or too early,
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But contempt for the coward does not pass, no.
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1943
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