It so happened- the men have left us,
Left their crops before the time of harvest,-
So they are no longer visible through the windows-
Disappeared in the road dust.
From the ear the grain is flowing-
It's the tears of unharvested fields,
And nimbly unpleasant cold winds
From the cracks are flowing.
We are waiting for you- the horses, hurry them on!
Good luck, good luck, good luck, good luck!
Let the fair winds do not hit, but caressing your backs when you ride
And then quickly return:
For the willows are crying for you,
And without your smiles, rowan berry become pale and dry.
We are living in those high towers-
Nobody can enter those buildings:
Expectation and loneliness
Instead of you settled down in houses.
Lost its freshness and charm
Whiteness of never worn shirts,
And the old songs so boring become
And got stuck in our teeth.
We are waiting for you- the horses, hurry them on!
Good luck, good luck, good luck, good luck!
Let the fair winds do not hit, but caressing your backs when you ride
And then quickly return:
For the willows are crying for you,
And without your smiles, rowan berry become pale and dry.
All is hurting with one single pain,
And sounds unceasingly with each day
Eternal anguish of lamentations
With echoes of ancient pray.
We will welcome you, if you're on foot , and on horses,
Tired, broken- whatever your losses,-
Only not the death notice emptiness,
Nor premonition of them!
We are waiting for you- the horses, hurry them on!
Good luck, good luck, good luck, good luck!
Let the fair winds do not hit, but caressing your backs when you ride
And then quickly return:
For they are crying for you,
And without your smiles, rowan berries become pale and dry.
Treugol'ny в(ъв)/на 2017-09-28
jsanders14 
Anatoli Trojanowski