He was blue-eyed and red-haired,
(Like gunpowder during a game!)
Crafty and affectionate. We are
Two small fair-haired sisters.
The night had fallen on the rocks,
A fire is burning over the sea,
And tired Vladimir
Head on the shoulders of sisters.
And the sisters are already quarreling with anger:
"He is mine!" - "No - he is mine!" - "Why?"
Volodya decides: "You both!
You are wives, I am a Turk, your husband. "
It is forgotten that there are holes in dresses,
That the new suit is crumpled.
As the rocks are tempting-cheeses!
How joyfully the pinyas rustle!
Scraps of some tunes
And a whisper through a dream: "No, he's mine!"
- "(Home, Asya, Musya, Volodya!")
"No, better at the fire than home!"
Skirts cling to the rocks,
The pocket is torn from the pebbles.
We smoke - as adults - tubes,
We are thieves, and he is ataman.
Well, as you remember it without pain,
Comrade of so many victories?
Now we are bigger and more
Not boys in skirts, - oh no!
But we carry the memory of him
For a lifetime. Why?
"I was ten years old, she's eight,
Eleven is exactly him.
Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.