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(4>. M. JIA3APEBCbKOMy) riepeKJiaBB. CEMEHHHASH IRISTM AS DAY(To F. N. Lazarevsky)When you’re not going home at nightFrom one place or another,And sleep has gone from you in flightRemember me, dear brother!And when your lonesomeness and griefWon’t leave you for a price,Why, then, just think of me my friendAnd call me for advice.It’s then that you should think of howBeside a distant sea,Your friend of friends, so happy once,Fights with his destiny;How he, with just his hidden thoughtsAnd with his humble heart,Walks aimlessly and prays to GodTo lighten, some, his lot;Whose thoughts drift often to Ukraine,Who thinks of you, my friend,And sometimes worries for a while —Not much — you understand.You see, it’s but a day a-wayWhen Christmas Mali be hail’d —How hard it is to meet this dayWhen you’re alone and jailedIn the desert.Bright and earlyTomorrow, in Ukraine,The bells will ring and people’ll singTo God a sweet refrain.And tomorrow, bright and early,Somewhere along the plain,A hungry beast will introduceA chilling hurricane;To bring and blow the sand and snowAround my hut of clay.