My grandmother,
Born in Moscow,
Ran a rooming house
In New York City
In the 1920s.
Her roomers all
Russians,
Refugees,
Escapees.
Some,
Homesick,
Decided to return
To Russia.
"They'll shoot you! "
My grandmother told them.
They nodded and sighed.
They missed their homeland
They returned
And never were heard of again.
what a sad story and a historical anecdote of one of the bravest countries of the world, where men and women have been massacred based on wrong political ideologies! !
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
are we SURE it wasn't your mom's cooking that drove them back? : ( brian