You come in my dreams, my native land,
And carry me away to my childhood.
Where, again, I am a little child-
A barefoot girl who runs in grassland.
Where grass is stretched like a soft carpet,
The horizons beckons with their invisible eyes.
Where gophers incessantly whistle...
And somewhere gallop the steppes' antelopes.
Where a proud eagle soars in the sky,
The smell of shepherds' fairs comes with wind.
Where the silence of the steppes disturb,
A small of herd of flying horses skims.
Where there are no vices of envy or malice,
Happiness and misery exist together.
Where every house you can enter without knocking,
Always welcomed and dear guest.
Where I enjoy to drink well's water,
And become drunk from the smell of the steppe's grass.
Where I relieve my thirst for unquenchable nostalgia
For my Mother country in a distant foreign land.
My Homeland
© Copyright: Лидия Бор, 2010
Свидетельство о публикации №110071906829
Свидетельство о публикации №110071906829
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