We almost all have a drama,
It may seems it's easy to solve.
Mother is bored all alone in an autumn town
And this town is located far away.
We don't pay attention at the beginning,
And days of parting become years.
We promise to write and we forget,
And our mothers forgive us as usual.
But earlier the boy was worried,
When mother wasn't at home.
Staring at a palm tree on wallpapers,
He ate a piece of bread with sugar
And waited for a moment when the old door spring would creak
To bring caress and warmth back.
She worked, was a volunteer after work,
And came home at evening time with full bags.
These hands was like a couple of caring birds,
They could protect and calm us down.
But wishing to become adult, me and my brother
Looked only at marks on a doorframe.
And summer rain was dripping on the steaming ground.
And we were playing life like it was war.
And all the things mother told us
We start to realize only now.
Why was so much corn?
Why are smells stronger in April?
Why do we want watermelon in winter?
But actually everything was as it should be.
This heady smell of a new pair of sandals
And candies for 1-10 rub. in a paper bag,
And (a photo of) cheerful Gagarin in a pen (made us happy)*.
Nothing can make us so happy now.
At least once a year it seems so easy
To return to quiet gladness of dear eyes.
But we rush to the tops of creative growth.
And our mothers understand and don't bother us.
Drinking the same berry kissel,
They wait and fib to neighbours
That maybe we'll come to New Year.
But again we go somewhere to far lands.
But when we hear the beach sound
From a dusty gramophone disc,
Our memory breaks like a cine-film.
We are so powerless to bring back with cherry pies*
The gladness of our childhood.