by unknown russian author
I don't like to lose my friends, with whom I
Feel warmth in the severe cold.
In the crooked streets, in wide squares it's hard
To find a person, who is really worth.
You could for centuries rove from one house to other,
Without seeing souls, and without seeing faces,
And think the past days as the dream, forlorn,
And with a passer-by get angry.
Friend's circle is, indeed, too dear for my heart -
Our talking, singing, and confessions in the nights.
I know perfectly - here all are the friends of mine,
They're always ready helping me in the time.
We're destined to such variable chance,
And life will not be similar to honey.
But if you ask me: 'Oh, please, come! '
I'll come to you, despite of any trouble.
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the russian variant please look on
http: //www.stihi.ru/2011/11/02/5007
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem