Есть небольшое сельское кладбище - русская литература - текст песни, слова, перевод, видео

There is a small rural cemetery in one of the remote corners of Russia. Like almost all of our cemeteries, it is sad: the ditches surrounding it have long been thicket; Gray wooden crosses drooped and rot under their once painted roofs; Stone slabs are all shifted, as if someone pushes them from below; Two or three plucked trees barely give a meager shadow; The sheep frightenedly roam the graves ... But there is one between them, before which a person does not apply, which the animal does not trample: some birds sit on it and sing at the dawn. The iron fence surrounds her; Two young Christmas trees were planted at both ends: Evgeny Bazarov is buried in this grave. To her, from a nearby village, often two decrepit old men - a husband with a wife. Supporting each other, they go with a whisper with a gait; They will approach the fence, fall and kneel, and cry and bitterly cry for a long time, and look carefully at the dumb stone, under which their son lies; They will change in a short word, the dust brushes off the stone and the Christmas tree will correct, and pray again, and cannot leave this place, where it seems to them closer to their son, to the memories of him ... Are their prayers, their tears are barren? Is love, holy, devoted love not omnipotent? Oh no! No matter how passionate, sinful, rebellious heart disappears in the grave, the flowers growing on it are serenely looking at us with their innocent eyes: they tell us not about one eternal tranquility, that great calm of the “indifferent” nature; They also talk about eternal reconciliation and life of endless ...