TO THE SON... \u000a\u000aYou will grow up, and I will not know, \u000aWith whom you spend days and even nights, \u000aBut I will call still \u000aYou as in the childhood - my dear sonny. \u000a\u000aYou will grow up... You will accept \u000aDestinies blows, I think, adequately. \u000aAnd to grit teeth and to clench fists, \u000aAnd I will not kiss any more where it is sick. \u000a\u000aAnd if we do not cope with the father already. \u000aThere the crane began to flow or other troubles, \u000aYour voice in a tube will firmly tell me: \u000a\

TO THE SON... \u000a\u000aYou will grow up, and I will not know, \u000aWith whom you spend days and even nights, \u000aBut I will call still \u000aYou as in the childhood - my dear sonny. \u000a\u000aYou will grow up... You will accept \u000aDestinies blows, I think, adequately. \u000aAnd to grit teeth and to clench fists, \u000aAnd I will not kiss any more where it is sick. \u000a\u000aAnd if we do not cope with the father already. \u000aThere the crane began to flow or other troubles, \u000aYour voice in a tube will firmly tell me: \u000a\"Mamul, do not touch anything - now I will arrive\". \u000a\u000aWell, for now - a pizhamka in clouds, \u000aAnd for the night  See details »