The gates of the commemoration
were opened for instant again,
and sets out my generation
for last, for concluding campaign.
Yes, sets out my generation,
and, tired, it doubled its ranks.
It's hard to march into the action
in sight of the future bad days.
Yes, this is all my generation:
our banner doesn't gorgeously flaps,
but boldness, and love and great patience -
shine lordly on our shoulder-straps.
Fall thunders from heavenly folders,
And laughing with tears is bland.
All marshals - we are, all we - solders,
and all have the general fate.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.I would like to translate this poem