Zarema Cradle Home Rasul Gamzatov Poem by Yuri Starostin

Zarema Cradle home
I was born in a nice house. To say all people were born in that homes, except most old of their. That cradle house do not close an eyes and at night. A child crying in it does not cease A hotch night, an every day. He responds an whole century by an happy echoes in a hearts. Never a man is not born with a cheerful laughter. Warmed by a joy sense, the dods, though many, carry a bouquets all round year in that cradle home. Amazing, as a miracle, It does not compare with no anything, but with the top, whence a springs take its way. It is to admire the gang of a white clouds from a height. He became a lulaby of a courage, a cradle of a beauty. And a gentle songs would sang in anywhat, sing on the one motive here at a quiet cradle.