native Land


I have a better edge in the world do not know
Yes, there are such edge;
Steppe path, pathway, forest,
Aside my dear.

Green trees like the sea, like the sea
Rustles golden wave
It stands among a field birch on patrol
Far, far visible.

In the evening of the river will play the accordion,
Flood pipe the word,
Steppe path, pathway, forest,
Aside my dear.


Difficult years passed we Stobo,
Remembered our affairs.
The sky above us again blue
Again, you all bloomed.

Over a blue river, for the kind mountains,
Increasingly from dawn to dusk,
For all the vast expanses of the Soviet
Thundering wave of labor.

The color, stretches from the edge to edge,
From the sea to the distant seas,
Steppe path, pathway, forest,
Aside my dear. 1952