27 lines
756 B
Plaintext
27 lines
756 B
Plaintext
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Song of the k / f "Ivan Nikulin Russian sailor"
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On the branches of a wounded poplar
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The warm breath of wind.
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Above the desert raid of Sevastopol
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Neither the crescent moon, no lights.
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That night quarters scorched,
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Breaking breasted the darkness of night,
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It was a sailor, saying goodbye to the bastions,
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With a dead ship's side.
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It was a sailor on the bays dull,
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Where is the soul of all the pebbles are lovely.
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At the cemetery, the graves of the old
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The guards raised their trunks.
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He stood. striped vest
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Caked with thick patches.
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He said; "I'm rich make war,
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With your black pack fought his heart's content. "
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On the branches of a wounded poplar
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The warm breath of wind.
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Above the desert raid of Sevastopol
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Neither the crescent moon, no lights. 1943
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