Tvardovsky was crying, perhaps, for his son. Who is hindered by the western edge of Russia? There are also more complex rules for highlighting calls.

Quest Source: Decision 5752. USE 2017. Russian language. I.P. Tsybulko. 36 options.

Task 17. Arrange all punctuation marks: write the number (s) followed by the comma (s).

About a wife, about something else,

What I knew about myself: from now on

There is no one to cry about him.

Should have been a soldier and in grief

Have a snack and rest

A long way was waiting for him.

(A. T. Tvardovsky)

Solution.

1. Find in the text the words that answer the question "who, what?" If such a word is not the subject in the sentence, this is an appeal. Separate with commas.

Cried (1) maybe (2) be (3) about a son,

About a wife, about something else,

What I knew about myself: from now on

There is no one to cry about him.

Should have been a soldier and in grief

Have a snack and rest

Because (4) friends (5) soon

A long way was waiting for him.

2. Find introductory words in the text.

Cried (1) maybe (2) be (3) about a son,

About a wife, about something else,

What I knew about myself: from now on

There is no one to cry about him.

3. Write out the numbers, in the place of which there should be commas in the sentence.

In response, write down in numbers without spaces and commas, in any order.

This year the Kaliningrad region celebrated its 70th anniversary. A brief moment by historical standards, but still for recent history- this is already a certain period. And for some reason, in public discussions, especially those where it comes to the so-called "expansionist actions and aspirations of Russia," the topic of this exclave (a part of the land that does not have a border with the rest of the state and goes to the sea coast) sounds more and more insistently.

Let us recall, for example, how recently the editor-in-chief of the American agency Bloomberg and a permanent member of the Bilderberg Matthew Winkler, in a conversation with Putin, referring to the Kuril Islands, suddenly mentioned Kaliningrad as a joke. Our president immediately retorted, asking, in turn, the question - do you, they say, want to reconsider the results of World War II? In response, there was a kind of tortured, nervous laugh.

And sometimes openly at various talk shows, especially with guests from Ukraine, it sounds - you captured Crimea and add that at the international level it is necessary to raise the issue of returning the territory of the present Kaliningrad region that was "chopped off" by Stalin after the war. Those who say such things turn out to be the typical ignorant from the historical point of view. Because as such there is no problem in the Kaliningrad region and never has been. Why? For an answer, one must go back to the time of the last world war.

For the first time about the dismemberment of Germany as a single state and the liquidation of Prussia it was not Stalin who spoke at all, but Churchill... In December 1941, in a conversation with our plenipotentiary in Great Britain, IM Maisky, he raised this topic. There is even evidence of when such a thought was first expressed by him - on December 7, 1941, at the very beginning of the victorious offensive of the Red Army near Moscow. As a true Anglo-Saxon strategist, who believed that after the victory it would be necessary to knock out not only the spirit of Hitler, but also Schiller, Churchill, despite this overkill, nevertheless correctly pointed to the goal - the destruction of Prussia as the centuries-old sting of German militarism. If the heads of the USSR, the USA and Great Britain had different views about the further fate of the territory and statehood of the Third Reich, then Prussia, or rather East Prussia, did not raise questions with its capital in Konigsberg. As a part of Germany, from where aggression against Eastern Europe and Russia was constantly emanating, it was subject to liquidation. This was recorded by the decision of the Potsdam Conference in early August 1945.

Of course, there was no talk of any Kaliningrad there. Two-thirds of the territory of East Prussia went to Poland, and one-third of the eastern lands, where the main city of the Konigsberg region was located, was received by the USSR. And from August 1945 to March 1946, on the administrative maps of the RSFSR, the Konigsberg region was listed, which became Kaliningrad after the death of the "All-Union headman" MI Kalinin. A small piece of land also went to the Lithuanian SSR, which it calmly took with them, having become independent Lithuania, after the collapse of the USSR. The decisions of the Potsdam Conference themselves are not subject to cancellation and are indefinite.

This is the historical and legal aspect. But there is also a spiritual and moral one. The winner's right is one thing, but perhaps, from the point of view of morality, there is some flaw here? No, and everything is perfect here.

For the first time, our troops entered German soil in East Prussia in the winter of 1945. And for our soldiers and commanders she was not just alien and hostile, but also cursed. In those days, Alexander Tvardovsky wrote one of the most piercing and deep, without any jokes, chapters of his "Terkin", which he called "About an orphan soldier." It reflects with impeccable accuracy the mood of the soldiers who entered the territory of Germany. The lyrical hero of Tvardovsky, when the offensive was underway near Smolensk, asked to go to his village for several hours and ended up there in the ashes. I found out that his entire family had died:

But, homeless and homeless,
Returning to the battalion,
The soldier ate his soup cold
After all, and he cried.

Maybe he cried about his son,
About a wife, about something else,
What I knew about myself: from now on
There is no one to cry about him.

And in February 1945, the poet thinks about what happened to his hero:

Where is he now, in fact.
Maybe he fell in some battle,
With small lettering plywood
It skidded with a damp snowball.

Or was he hurt again
I rested, as the duty dictates,
And again on the battlefield
Did Tilsit take with us?

Tilsit is East Prussia, present-day Sovetsk on the border with Lithuania.

Maybe it's even deeper here
And the living soul is sicker,
Is it so, no, we must remember
About his saint's tear.

If I had that tear with my hands
From Russia happened
In German this stone
To convey, - it would burn through and through.

These are the feelings experienced by those who have already been behind their backs for three and a half years. terrible war with millions of victims in their native land. They do not have even a shadow of malevolence and desire to "chop off" something. And there is a burning bitterness of loss and a desire to quickly end the war victoriously, crushing the enemy. Therefore, the part of the former East Prussia that became the Kaliningrad region, quite legally and naturally, soon turned into a stronghold for deterring a potential enemy from the west and a reliable shield for Russia.

Time, of course, heals, but even today the overwhelming majority of the region's residents know very well by what right their land has become the westernmost part of Russia. And there can be no question of any return of her somewhere and to someone. Although at a purely superficial level, an outside observer sometimes gets the impression that they are, as it were, ready to separate themselves from the rest of Russia.

Over the past two years, I have had to visit this land three times as an ordinary tourist. And I can say that at the level of names, cultural and historical symbols, the Prussian past seems to be returning to everyday life. The names Konigsberg, Rauschen (present-day Svetlogorsk) or Krantz-Zelenogradsk can be seen on souvenirs, other goods, and graphic design of cities. But at the same time, Europeanness, if I may say so, does not at all conflict with natural Russianness.

You can have a delicious cup of coffee and great cakes or rolls at the Konigsbacker (Royal Baker's) bakery and hear not-so-old veterans talking next door that NATO will break its teeth about the power of our armed forces. A saleswoman in the market enthusiastically discusses the international tank biathlon championship shown on TV. Or here's a case: somehow he gave me a lift local- a participant on the Curonian Spit and started a speech about the fact that in neighboring, only 15 kilometers away, Lithuania, exercises are taking place:

- My former fellow paratroopers call me and say that if something happens we will drive up to you. And it will be necessary, so we will hit them ...

But in such moods there is not even a shadow of aggression, here, rather, a defensive reaction and a living historical memory.

And at the same time in Zelenogradsk, for example, a bike ride is taking place, called by its organizers "Tour de Cranz". And on the streets of this town and Svetlogorsk, large photographic posters are installed, depicting the architecture and everyday scenes of almost a century ago. Everything refers to the Prussian past, but at the same time does not conflict with the Russian present. Moreover, even a public organization appeared here, which is engaged in the improvement of cities and towns under the motto “ European city of Russia". They install original benches and exercise equipment for adults and children on the streets and in parks.

Tourism is actively and successfully developing in the region. After all, the local resorts are more than 150 years old. In recent years, the number of hotels and guest houses has grown. And the number of tourists this summer alone has increased by 10 percent compared to last year. Despite the fact that the Baltic weather is capricious, but the purest sea air, the developing tourist infrastructure attract the inhabitants of "mainland" Russia here.

I noticed one more feature. Here they create unique, marked with special creativity, objects and corners for vacationers. They treat them carefully, with special love. I will not be unfounded.

Svetlogorsk has a unique embankment in its own way. Not very long, located under the mountain. Equipped with benches with a roof of the original shape, which is useful when it is raining. The beach is a small area along the promenade: sand and large stones by the water. The people, with children and small dogs, begin to sunbathe and swim at the slightest appearance of the sun. I remember a touching picture - the rain begins, and a woman in a bathing suit takes her dog in her arms and covers it with her panama. There are many cafes on the embankment, there is an excellent fish restaurant.

And Zelenogradsk has a wonderful promenade, wide and long. You can walk, run. It's great that there are a lot of benches. You can, frozen on a bench, look at the sea, listen to the surf, inhale fresh air... I would not have left.

In Svetlogorsk there is a small church in honor of the icon of the Mother of God "Joy of All Who Sorrow", where you simultaneously experience a feeling of grief caused by loss and joy that there is a place where innocent children and adults are remembered (in 1972, on kindergarten a military plane crashed and all children and staff were killed). Everyone can enter this church and remember them and pray for their relatives and friends, and for themselves, a sinner. You can write notes, they will be read either in this church, or in the nearby church of St. Seraphim of Sarov.

In general, Orthodoxy is another, besides the military, protective and spiritual factor of the region. The current Patriarch Kirill applied his zeal and talent to the emergence of churches and parishes here, while he was still Metropolitan of Smolensk and Kaliningrad. Until the 90s, there were practically no Orthodox churches and monasteries in the region. The Protestant churches were empty, but at the same time they were well preserved. Now they have become Orthodox churches.

An old water tower is visible from any corner of Zelenogradsk. And from its observation deck you can see the whole city with its German houses, new buildings and, of course, the sea. A modern lift will take you to the site. You can go down on foot, looking at works of art, folk crafts, artisans, members of the union of artists. Since there is an art collection dedicated to cats inside the tower. Drawn cats, knitted, sewn, embroidered, molded and all sorts of others. Cats are full of kitsch and cats are almost high art. Downstairs you can buy souvenirs about cats. This museum tower with its collectives is friends with a similar tower somewhere in Poland. It forms part of the complex, which also consists of the Paradox Hotel with its museum of skulls and skeletons - the Ministry of Emergencies.

Or such an amazing and mysterious place on the Curonian Spit - the Dancing Forest. It raises many questions. Why do trees grow in such a bizarre way, why do they twist and twist so? The explanation that it was caused by a fire is somehow not entirely satisfying. Very beautiful, trees and their groups create many images that evoke different associations. A unique place. A photographer's paradise, especially with the imagination.

Changes for the better are visible in the region. In Zelenogradsk, the repair and renovation of old streets began, and in Svetlogorsk, a magnificent modern equipment cinema, concert and exhibition complex "Yantar Hall".

Until recently, there were local border crossings in the region, when Kaliningraders and Poles from neighboring voivodeships, without visas, using passport inserts, crossed the border and freely went on excursions and shopping. And suddenly, during the NATO summit in Warsaw in July this year, Poland, ostensibly for security purposes, eliminated the special border crossing regime. At the same time, the Poles themselves bear losses, so much in trade and tourism was designed for guests from the Kaliningrad region. And they themselves came to us for cheap gasoline. Not to mention the fact that connections were strengthened on a human and everyday level. And not about any Russophobia from the outside ordinary people and there was no question. Himself a witness - last year he traveled to Gdynia, Sopot and Gdansk. They never rude to me, but, on the contrary, willingly entered into conversations, in every possible way showing that they were glad to have guests.

Until now, the previous order at the border has not been restored. Polish politicians now cite lack of security on the Russian side. One might think that they went to them in tanks. So they, with an eye on the United States, beat on the interests of their own citizens in defiance of their neighbors. Stupidity and stupidity, wild arrogance.

And at the same time, ideas about the blockade of the Kaliningrad region, its separation from the rest of Russia and neighboring Europe, are increasingly being thrown into the information field. In the hope that we will let go of the protective sword. But they won't wait. And the policy of blocking the westernmost edge of Russia will eventually fail, even if they really want to implement it.

http://www.peremeny.ru/books/osminog/12238#more-12238

Today we are talking about Berlin.
Jokes away - serve Berlin.
And for a long time not in sight,
Let's say the ancient city of Klin.

And on the Oder hardly
Even old people will remember
How they took half a year in battle
Locality Borki.

And under those near Borki
Every stone, every stake
I went into memory for three lives
We are with a fellow countryman.

The countryman was not old, not young,
At war from the same day
And he was just as funny
Like me.

The guy had to skedaddle,
A cheerful spirit always took care
Repeated: "Forward, to the west",
Moving east.

By the way, when leaving,
How the cities were rented
More like he was in fashion,
He was more famous then.

And strangely enough,
Honor to him alone,
So even the generals
It was as if they were not counted.

The term is different, different dates.
Labor has been divided since ancient times:
Soldiers surrender cities
The generals take them.

In general, broken, grated, burnt,
Wound marked double
Surrounded in forty-one
On the ground he walked dear.

A soldier walked, as others walked,
To unknown lands:
“What is where she is, Russia,
Which line is your own? .. "

And throwing a family in captivity,
In a hurry for the war,
I don’t guess what he thought
What he carried in his soul.

But no matter how hassle,
The truth is the truth, the lie is the lie.
We retreated before the deadline
We retreated far
But they always said:
- You're lying! ..

And now look west
From the capital. The native land!
He was locked in earnest
Behind the iron wall.

And to a small village
That of the captive side
Not by the pike's command
Fully returned again

At the behest of our strength,
Russian, her own.
Well, where is she, Russia,
What doors are thundering!

And, forever knocking down the hunt
Get into a fight on your own,
Her enemy - what a count! -
He fell prone and paws apart.

Which capital is cool
Raised your flag, motherland!
Let's wait until the fireworks
To tell exactly.

The term is different, different dates.
True, the burden is not light ...
But let's continue about the soldier,
As they said, a fellow countryman.

Dear home, wife, children,
Brother, sister, father or mother
You have here in the world -
There is where to send a letter.

And our soldier -
The addressee is white light.
Besides the radio guys
There are no close relatives.

The most precious thing on earth
If you have in reserve
The window where you can
Knock at a certain hour.

On a hike abroad
In the alien side
Oh, how carefully kept
Pain-dream of that window!

And our soldier -
Although now the end of the war, -
There is no window, no hut,
Not a mistress, even if he is married,
Not a son, but there was, guys, -
I painted at home with a pipe ...

They attacked near Smolensk.
Dropped a rest. My countryman
Addressed at the halt
To the commander: so and so, -

Allow me to leave,
Say, dear case,
Like, since a local resident,
The yard is just a stone's throw away.

Allowed in due time ...
The edge is known to the bush.
But he looks - the wrong road
The area seems to be not the same.

Here is the hill, here is the river,
Wilderness, tall weeds to a soldier,
Yes, there is a plaque on the column,
Like, the village of Krasny Most.

And they found that they were alive
And just tell him
It's all true that the servant -
A faithful orphan.

At the plank at the fork
Taking off his cap, our soldier
He stood as if on a grave,
And it's time for him to go back.

And, leaving the courtyard,
In a hurry for the war,
I don’t guess what he thought
What did he carry in his soul ...

But, homeless and homeless,
Returning to the battalion,
The soldier ate his soup cold
After all, and he cried.

At the edge of a dry ditch
With a bitter, childish trembling mouth,
Cried, sitting with a spoon in his right,
With bread on the left - an orphan.

Maybe he cried about his son,
About a wife, about something else,
What I knew about myself: from now on
There is no one to cry about him.

Should have been a soldier and in grief
Have a snack and rest
Because, friends, that soon
A long way was waiting for him.

To the land of the Soviet land
I walked that path in war, in labor.

And the war went like this -
Kitchens in the back, damn them where!

You will forget about hunger too
For a good war.
Jokes or something, a day is a city,
Two days - regional.

The term is different, the time is different -
Hit, drive, adopt.
Dear Belarus,
Ukraine is golden,
Hello, sang and goodbye.

You will also forget about thirst,
Because he drinks beer
In war, not everyone
The one that took the brewery.

So whether on the move, not on the move,
Having entered with native land,
Border rivers water
We crossed with battles.

The score is settled, the reckoning is in progress
In the light, honestly.
But let's finish about the soldier,
About the same orphan.

Where is he now, in fact.
Maybe he fell in some battle,
With small lettering plywood
It skidded with a damp snowball.

Or was he hurt again
I rested, as the duty dictates,
And again on the battlefield
Did Tilsit take with us?

And, leaving Russia,
In a hurry for the war,
I don’t guess what he thought
What he carried in his soul.

Maybe it's even deeper here
And the living soul is sicker,
Is it so, no, we must remember
About his saint's tear.

If I had that tear with my hands
From Russia happened
In German this stone
To convey, - it would burn through and through "

The account is great, there is a reckoning.
And beyond that great suffering
Let's not forget guys
Let's remember to the account about the soldier,
That he was left an orphan.

The score is terrible, the reckoning is terrible
For millions of souls and bodies.
Pay - and the deed is holy
But in addition to the soldier,
That he was orphaned in the war.

How far is Berlin
Do not count, walk, pitch, -
Half half
The road from Wedge,
We have already passed from Moscow.

Day follows night after
Let's draw the line with a bayonet.
But also on the bright day of victory
Let's remember, brothers, during the conversation
About an orphan soldier ...

• 12.

And still in the midst of a fight
Today, maybe just about,
Together with the shore, with the land
A platoon will be dropped into the water.

However, everything is familiar, -
The term of the war, which is a century of life.
From the border outpost
To the Moscow River Capital
And vice versa - so many rivers!

This is the last fighter
Crawls out onto the sand
And immediately chews the biscuit,
Because - it got wet in the Dnieper,

Wet himself, rustling his pants.
Nothing! - That's why the landing.
- We are advancing. Dnipro is behind us,
And, comrade lieutenant? ..

The battle thundered for the crossing,
And below, a little to the south -
Germans from left to right
Belatedly, we kept our way.

But no longer missed
Terkin strictly says:
- Let them surrender on the left,
The reception is closed here,

And on the left on the move, on the move
Bayonets arrived in time
They were pushed into the water, into the water,
And the water itself teca ...

And still between the shores
Indiscriminately, at random
Bomb piles helped
Drive, roll forward ...

But already from the cellars,
From the bushes, forest dens
The people walked - dear souls -
On the side of the road ...

To the headquarters on the eastern shore
Weaved with a stitch, side
A certain German flawless,
Cheering the people honest.

From the crossing?
- From the crossing.
Just from the Dnieper.
- Swam, then?
- Swam, devil,
Because - the heat has come ...

Well fed, damn it!
Purebred.
- He is in a hurry to be taken prisoner, as if to a halt ...

But already the platoon's favorite -
Terkin didn’t joke.
He smoked, looked loose,
Busy with his thought.
Behind his back is the road
It was longer many times.

And he was silent, not offended,
Not to reproach anyone, -
I just knew and saw more
Lost and saved ...

Mother earth is my dear,
All Smolensk relatives,
Forgive me for what - I don't know
Just forgive me!
Not in your cruel captivity,
On the front road,
And in the deep home rear
Leaves Terkin yours.
The bitter period has passed,
Will not go back.

What are you, brother, Vasily Terkin,
Are you crying? ..
- I'm sorry ...

About an orphan soldier

Today we are talking about Berlin.
Jokes away - serve Berlin.
And for a long time not in sight,
Let's say the ancient city of Klin.

And on the Oder hardly
Even old people will remember
How they took half a year in battle
Settlement Borki.

And under those near Borki
Every stone, every stake
I went into memory for three lives
We are with a fellow countryman.

The countryman was not old, not young,
At war from the same day
And he was just as cheerful
Like me.

The guy had to skedaddle,
A cheerful spirit is always ashore,
Repeated: "Forward, to the west",
Moving east.

By the way, when leaving,
How the cities were rented
More like he was in fashion,
He was more famous then.

And strangely enough,
Honor to him alone,
So even the generals
It was as if they were not counted.

The term is different, different dates.
Labor has been divided since ancient times:
Soldiers surrender cities
The generals take them.

In general, beaten, grated, burnt,
Wound marked double
Surrounded in forty-one,
On the ground he walked native.

A soldier walked, as others walked,
To unknown lands:
"What is where she is, Russia,
Which line is your own? .. "

And throwing a family in captivity,
In a hurry for the war,
I don’t guess what he thought
What he carried in his soul.

But no matter how hassle,
The truth is the truth, the lie is the lie.
We retreated before the deadline
We retreated far
But they always said:
- You're lying! ..

And now look west
From the capital. The native land!
He was locked in earnest
Behind the iron wall.

And to a small village
That of the captive side
Not by the pike's command
Fully returned again

At the behest of our strength,
Russian, her own.
Well, where is she, Russia,
What doors are thundering!

And, forever knocking down the hunt
Get into a fight on your own,
Her enemy - what a count! -
He fell prone and paws apart.

Which capital is cool
Raised your flag, motherland!
Let's wait until the fireworks
To tell exactly.

The term is different, different dates.
True, the burden is not light ...
But let's continue about the soldier,
As they said, a fellow countryman.

Dear home, wife, children,
Brother, sister, father or mother
You have here in the world -
There is where to send a letter.

And our soldier -
The addressee is white light.
Besides the radio guys
There are no close relatives.

The most precious thing on earth
If you have in reserve
The window where you can
Knock at a certain hour.

On a hike abroad
In the alien side
Oh, how carefully kept
Pain-dream of that window!

And our soldier -
Although now the end of the war, -
There is no window, no hut,
Not a mistress, even if he is married,
Not a son, but there was, guys, -
I painted at home with a pipe ...

They attacked near Smolensk.
Dropped a rest. My countryman
Addressed at the halt
To the commander: so and so, -

Allow me to leave,
Say, dear case,
Like, since a local resident,
The yard is just a stone's throw away.

Allowed in due time ...
The edge is known to the bush.
But he looks - the wrong road
The area seems to be not the same.

Here is the hill, here is the river,
Wilderness, tall weeds to a soldier,
Yes, there is a plaque on the column,
Like, the village of Krasny Most.

And they found that they were alive
And just tell him
It's all true that the servant -
A faithful orphan.

At the plank at the fork
Taking off his cap, our soldier
He stood as if on a grave,
And it's time for him to go back.

And, leaving the courtyard,
In a hurry for the war,
I don’t guess what he thought
What did he carry in his soul ...

But, homeless and homeless,
Returning to the battalion,
The soldier ate his soup cold
After all, and he cried.

At the edge of a dry ditch
With a bitter, childish trembling mouth,
Cried, sitting with a spoon in his right,
With bread on the left - an orphan.

Maybe he cried about his son,
About a wife, about something else,
What I knew about myself: from now on
There is no one to cry about him.

Should have been a soldier and in grief
Have a snack and rest
Because, friends, that soon
A long journey awaited him.

To the land of the Soviet land
I walked that path in war, in labor.

And the war went like this -
Kitchens in the back, damn them where!

You will forget about hunger too
For a good war.
Jokes or something, a day is a city,
Two days - regional.

The term is different, the time is different -
Hit, drive, adopt.
Dear Belarus,
Ukraine is golden,
Hello, sang and goodbye.

You will also forget about thirst,
Because he drinks beer
In war, not everyone
The one that took the brewery.

So whether on the move, not on the move,
Having arrived from their native land,
Border rivers water
We crossed with battles.

The account is settled, the reckoning is in progress
In the light, honestly.
But let's finish about the soldier,
About the same orphan.

Where is he now, in fact.
Maybe he fell in some battle,
With small lettering plywood
It skidded with a damp snowball.

Or was he hurt again
I rested, as the duty dictates,
And again on the battlefield
Did Tilsit take with us?

And, leaving Russia,
In a hurry for the war,
I don’t guess what he thought
What he carried in his soul.

Maybe it's even deeper here
And the living soul is sicker,
Is it so, no, we must remember
About his saint's tear.

If I had that tear with my hands
From Russia happened
In German this stone
To convey, - b burned through and through "

The account is great, the reckoning is in progress.
And beyond that great suffering
Let's not forget guys
Let's remember to the account about the soldier,
That he was left an orphan.

The account is terrible, the reckoning is terrible
For millions of souls and bodies.
Pay - and the deed is holy
But in addition to the soldier,
That he was orphaned in the war.

How far is Berlin
Do not count, walk, pitch, -
Half half
The road from Wedge,
We have already passed from Moscow.

Day after night follows
Let's draw the line with a bayonet.
But also on the bright day of victory
Let's remember, brothers, during the conversation
About an orphan soldier ...

On the road to Berlin

On the road to Berlin
The gray down of featherbeds is curling.

The wires of the lines that have gone silent
Soaked linden branches
The feather-bed down flew like frost,
It stuck on the sides of the cars.

And wheels of cannons, kitchens
Mud and snow interfere with the fluff.
And lays down on the overcoat
Wet blizzard with fluff ...

Boring foreign climate,
An alien land of red brick
But the war goes by itself
And the earth trembles as usual
Crunchy crushed stone tiled
Shaking off the roofs ...

Mother Russia, we are half the world
Your wheels have passed
Leaving behind somewhere
Rivers of your razdolny reach.

For a long, long time behind the wagon train
To the land of a stranger stretched after
The white color of your birch
And on the way it came to naught.

With the Volga, with ancient Moscow
How far you are today.
Between us and you -
Three languages ​​are not ours.

Late day is not Russian
Over the unwelcoming side.
Crunchy tiled crushed stone
Wet in a puddle under the wall.

Everywhere there are inscriptions, marks,
Arrows, signs, icons,
Wire mesh rings,
Fences, doors, cages -
Everything is on purpose for longing ...

Our dear mother earth,
In days of trouble and in days of victory
You are not brighter and more beautiful
And there is no more desirable heart.

Thinking about the soldier
Unpredictable fate
Even lie in a brotherly grave
Better, it seems, in you.

Today we are talking about Berlin.
All jokes, go Berlin.
And for a long time not in sight,
Let's say the ancient city of Klin.

And on the Oder hardly
Even old people will remember
How they took half a year in battle
Settlement Borki.

And under those near Borki
Every stone, every stake
I went into memory for three lives
We are with a fellow countryman.

The countryman was not old, not young,
At war from the same day
And he was just as funny
Like me.

The guy had to skedaddle,
A cheerful spirit always took care
Repeated: "Forward, to the west",
Moving east.

By the way, when leaving,
How the cities were rented
More like he was in fashion,
He was more famous then.

And strangely enough,
Honor to him alone,
So even the generals
It was as if they were not counted.

The term is different, different dates.
Labor has been divided since ancient times:
Soldiers surrender cities
The generals take them.

In general, broken, grated, burnt,
Wound marked double
Surrounded in forty-one
On the ground he walked dear.

A soldier walked, as others walked,
To unknown lands:
“What is where she is, Russia,
Which line is your own? .. "

And throwing a family in captivity,
In a hurry for the war,
I don’t guess what he thought
What he carried in his soul.

But no matter how hassle,
The truth is the truth, the lie is the lie.
We retreated before the deadline
We retreated far
But they always said:
- You're lying! ..

And now look west
From the capital. The native land!
He was locked in earnest
Behind the iron wall.

And to a small village
That of the captive side
Not by the pike's command
Fully returned again

At the behest of our strength,
Russian, her own.
Well, where is she, Russia,
What doors are thundering!

And, forever knocking down the hunt
Get into a fight on your own,
Her enemy - what a count! -
He fell prone and paws apart.

Which capital is cool
Raised your flag, motherland!
Let's wait until the fireworks
To tell exactly.

The term is different, different dates.
True, the burden is not light ...
But let's continue about the soldier,
As they said, a fellow countryman.

Dear home, wife, children,
Brother, sister, father or mother
You have here in the world -
There is where to send a letter.

And our soldier -
The addressee is white light.
Besides the radio guys
There are no close relatives.

The most precious thing on earth
If you have in reserve
The window where you can
Knock at a certain hour.

On a hike abroad
In the alien side
Oh, how carefully kept
Pain-dream of that window!

And our soldier -
Although now the end of the war, -
There is no window, no hut,
Not a mistress, even if he is married,
Not a son, but there was, guys, -
I painted at home with a pipe ...

They attacked near Smolensk.
Dropped a rest. My countryman
Addressed at the halt
To the commander: so and so, -

Allow me to leave,
Say, dear case,
Like, since a local resident,
The yard is just a stone's throw away.

Allowed in due time ...
The edge is known to the bush.
But he looks - the wrong road
The area seems to be not the same.

Here is the hill, here is the river,
Wilderness, tall weeds to a soldier,
Yes, there is a plaque on the column,
Like, the village of Krasny Most.

And they found that they were alive
And just tell him
It's all true that the servant -
A faithful orphan.

At the plank at the fork
Taking off his cap, our soldier
He stood as if on a grave,
And it's time for him to go back.

And, leaving the courtyard,
In a hurry for the war,
I don’t guess what he thought
What he carried in his soul ...

But, homeless and homeless,
Returning to the battalion,
The soldier ate his soup cold
After all, and he cried.

At the edge of a dry ditch
With a bitter, childish trembling mouth,
Cried, sitting with a spoon in his right,
With bread on the left - an orphan.

Maybe he cried about his son,
About a wife, about something else,
What I knew about myself: from now on
There is no one to cry about him.

Should have been a soldier and in grief
Have a snack and rest
Because, friends, that soon
A long way was waiting for him.

To the land of the Soviet land
I walked that path in war, in labor.

And the war went like this -
Kitchens in the back, damn them where!

You will forget about hunger too
For a good war.
Jokes or something, a day is a city,
Two days - regional.

The term is different, the time is different -
Hit, drive, adopt.
Dear Belarus,
Ukraine is golden,
Hello, sang and goodbye.

You will also forget about thirst,
Because he drinks beer
In war, not everyone
The one that took the brewery.

So whether on the move, not on the move,
Having arrived from their native land,
Border rivers water
We crossed with battles.

The score is settled, the reckoning is in progress
In the light, honestly.
But let's finish about the soldier,
About the same orphan.

Where is he now, in fact.
Maybe he fell in some battle,
With small lettering plywood
It skidded with a damp snowball.

Or was he hurt again
I rested, as the duty dictates,
And again on the battlefield
Did Tilsit take with us?

And, leaving Russia,
In a hurry for the war,
I don’t guess what he thought
What he carried in his soul.

Maybe it's even deeper here
And the living soul is sicker,
Is it so, no, we must remember
About his saint's tear.

If I had that tear with my hands
From Russia happened
In German this stone
To convey - burned through and through "

The account is great, there is a reckoning.
And beyond that great suffering
Let's not forget guys
Let's remember to the account about the soldier,
That he was left an orphan.

The score is terrible, the reckoning is terrible
For millions of souls and bodies.
Pay - and the deed is holy
But in addition to the soldier,
That he was orphaned in the war.

How far is Berlin
Do not count, walk, pitch, -
Half half
The road from Wedge,
We have already passed from Moscow.

Day follows night after
Let's draw the line with a bayonet.
But also on the bright day of victory
Let's remember, brothers, during the conversation
About an orphan soldier ...