The Ballad of the banner


Morning, bright as a splint.
Terrible. Long. Ratna.
Rifle Regiment was defeated.
Our. In this unequal battle.

How many guys were killed
In that fight, I do not know.
Wither - without roots -
Regimental colors.

Clouds were sad
Above the hushed battle.
And then from their native land
He stood a soldier who was killed.

He paused. I grieve.
And - to spite burns -
His bandaged chest
He crimson silk.

And fed to the east,
Ancestral home raving,
On the ground as big as a sigh.
Slowly, as time.

Pauls empty birch.
It was forest gully.
He considered himself a regiment
Surrounded by the enemy!

From it he went out
Menacing and tired.
Myself and the commander,
And the chief of staff.

He walked for a long time is not easy.
It was up to his waist in rosah,
Based on the shaft,
as a prophetic staff.

He was waiting for his hour,
Revenge on the enemy blood.
He slept in the field, and his
The Banner was warm ...

It rained. Spinning haze.
I gasped the storm.
Man did not take a bullet -
It flattens the bullet!

Well, if I took
Frantic vain -
Blood was undetectable,
Red on red ...