Elena Genrikhovna Guro. (№ 269136)

Don't cry, don't pity me, mother,
You don't ruin their glasock.
Far stretched the road on the road.
Don't break hands!
You don't ruin the old eyes!
You have a son will not be lost
you have a son Cade
you have a son, a young the cobblestones,
you have a son is a young sprig,
and the young branch, fluffy
bending and not breaking.
You don't break hands, mother,
and grab the bucket.
I'm always for you carried water.
Don't cry, mother,
And take the ax.
I'm stoked heat the stove
and you have my ax hands are small.
Ah-on! Native land sings.