Текст песни Александр Твардовский - Две строчки

From a written shabby book
Two lines about the fighter-boy,
What was in the fortieth year
Killed in Finland on ice.

It lay somehow ineptly
Childishly small body.
The greatcoat was pressed to the ice,
Far off the cap flew.
It seemed that the boy was not lying,
And still running ran
Yes, I held the ice behind the floor ...

Among the great war of brutal,
From what - I will not put my mind,
I feel sorry for the fate of the distant,
As if dead, alone,
As if I'm lying here,
Modest, small, dead
On that war, unrecognized,
Forgotten, small, I lie.

& lt; 1943 & gt;