The train starts moving quietly,
So little time is left to bide...
The bitter hardships faced by me,
Are things from you I’d rather hide.
The miles are flashing past the glass;
I write, then tear my lines in two...
Your portrait watched the moments pass,
Hung on my cabin wall in view.
A winding brook, the maples glow—
A beauty words cannot translate!
My sweet, green-eyed Alyona, though,
I fear you’ve grown too tired to wait.
And we will reminisce at home,
The quiet sorrow left behind,
The lights’ cascade of the aerodrome,
And flowing rails that stretch and wind.
But now the train moves quietly,
So little time is left to bide...
The bitter hardships faced by me,
Are things from you I’d rather hide.
Мой поезд трогается тихо... The Quiet Train
© Copyright: Виталий Шматалюк, 2026
Свидетельство о публикации №126051106863
Свидетельство о публикации №126051106863
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