Enemies have burnt native hut,
Ruined his family.
Where will now go to the soldier,
To carry your sadness?
Went soldiers in deep grief
At the intersection of two roads,
Soldiers found in a wide field
Grass overgrown mound.
It should be a soldier - and like lumps
Stuck in his throat.
The soldier said: & quot; There are, Praskovja,
Hero of her husband.
Prepare for the guest meals,
Cover with a table in the house -
Your day, your holiday one will return
To you I come to celebrate ... & quot;
No one soldier did not answer,
No it is not met,
It was only a warm summer breeze
Grass gravestone shaking.
Sighed soldiers belt corrected,
He opened his bag marching,
Bitter bottle set
On the gray stone coffin.
& Quot; Do not blame me, Praskovja,
What I have come to you like this:
I wanted to drink to the health,
And to drink for the dead.
Will meet again friends, girlfriends,
But do not we get together forever ... & quot;
And the soldiers drank from a copper mug
Wine with grief in half.
He drank - a soldier, a servant of the people,
And with a heavy heart to say:
& Quot; I was going to see you for four years,
I won three powers ... & quot;
Becoming exhilarated soldiers, a tear rolled,
Tear dashed hopes,
And on his chest shone
Medal of Budapest.
1945