Oleksandr I. Horodovyi

The little cuckoo will call the summer. They lowered the coffin into the pit, None of us believed in this death, We took a man on his last journey, A fighter who died in the anti-terrorist operation. Thirty-two years turned in April, A blue-eyed handsome man. .. The hundred-year-old oaks are swaying with cheers: "And his age should be long." The father and mother were petrified of grief, How will they survive this difficult trouble? Their son should be the first to be buried, And for some reason he the raw earth lies! There are a lot of people, but it is quiet, The cuckoo does not sleep in the summer… In our country, it is not ATO, but disaster: The world leaves the youth of gold. The rain stopped, the tears stopped pouring, And the sun illuminated the whole village . People! You and I should live like this, So that these deaths never happened!