The sky in May is like turquoise,

The march is being played and it's victorious!

I looked into my grandma's eyes,

I saw a fragile tiny girl at once

And at the same time - she's a warrior!

That hungry rear, that war, a mortal fear...

Is twelve a lot or it's a little?

Alone she stands - nobody near

And from above it is a whistle...

It is a whistling falling bomb.

Someone was screaming, then it's calm,

And then it is completely calm,

it's dark and silent.

The trouble laid like cemetery cross -

The only breadwinner left for the front.

The girl could not believe in loss

She thought, it was a namesake

in the funeral...

***

Keeping these memories alive in their heart,

Grandparents of the war still

do not sleep at night,

Staying with us by our side

Praying for us -

for the post-war children.