The Nazis burnt his home to ashes, His family they murdered there, Where shall the soldier home from battle Go now, to whom his sorrow bear? He stood with tears of sorrow welling And scarcely able breath to draw He said: "Praskovya dear, come welcome Your hero-husband back from war." But in reply there came no answer, No welcome for the soldier brave. Only a breeze that way came glancing And stirred the grass upon the grave.. . He paused a while, his belt he strengthened, And, from the kitbag at his side A flask of bitter vodka taking, He placed it on her grave and sighed. The soldier drank and wept for many A broken dream, while on his chest There shone a newly-minted medal For liberating Budapest.. .
Не должны пережить снова??? Вы спите что ли?? Сколько родителей, жён, детей, сестёр и братьев рыдают, потеряв самых дорогих на СВО, что с Вами?? Это бездушно!
