Quoting the verses of the Russian poet Pushkin, praising the former Soviet Union’s huge sacrifices in World War II: “Russia cut its way through time, like water flowing through a canyon, leaving an indelible mark in human history along the way. imprint." . . . . I read the song "I Will Still Dream of You" from a friend of mine
The scene is always fixed in the afternoon of 1939 when you walked through the Brandenburg Gate with glory and pride
The sun is fierce and the sky is far away
In my dream, I no longer remember the barracks entangled with barbed wire and wooden fences in Sachsenhausen and Dachau
I don’t know the people who went to Buchenwald and Auschwitz Road
I did not see the smoke of Vistula. People in Warsaw did not stare at the sky desperately speculating whether the bombers would come
I did not see the armored vehicles that spared Maginot in Paris. Young people are still in love romantically and sweetly
The sky in Britain is still clean and blue, the streets of London are still bustling and noisy
None of you are on the summer night in Smolensk Looking at the stars and missing my hometown
No one shivered from the cold in the snowy and icy Moscow
No one was buried alone under the dead birches in the snowy sky in Stalingrad
Not a single child of the Youth Division died on the beaches of Normandy or among the ruins of Berlin
It was as if the snow and wind were blowing the cold wind and the rain
The sea was moving across the ocean. The days of raging war
Never came
The Spree River still passes through the streets of Berlin after so many years and crosses my memory
Turns into cold tears
It flows slowly and dullly, rolling with the low melody of sadness and longing. ,. ,. . . . . . . . . . . . ,. "Life" The life that I have is all that I have
Life is all that I have.
And the life that I have is yoiurs.
My life belongs to you.
The love that I have of the life that I have,
My love is yours,
Is youre, and yoire, and youre.
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Belong to you, belong to you, belong to you.
The sleep I shall have. The Iahall hare.
I will sleep and rest.
Yet death will be but a pause.
Even death will be but a temporary rest.
For the peace of my yours in the long green grass
My peaceful years under the long green grass,
Will be you, and yours . and yours.
Also belongs to you, belongs to you, belongs to you.