This child is no more

Anyone born in the Soviet Union posvyaschaetsya.Stav adults we nostalgically recall the sadness and light all the good points of a special time that will never return. As we rejoiced first bike and ice cream with a wooden stick! In the summer out over the yard to play cops and robbers, and in winter playing snowballs and sledding every day and night. Mom saw "Bigfoot", hand brush and broom and was blamed for the appearance, and she called to the table smiling. With friends, we sang songs that everyone knew, reviewed "The Adventures of Electronics", and passed each other books.

Today, when you are in a strange bustle of the ghostly happiness when chahnesh by false values that conjures up a society, when you feel that you die belief in the goodness and justice, I want to remember the happy time of childhood, in which we were really happy. And this time not to die helps my faith in man.

Take me to my childhood ledyankah,
Where I did not hurt to fall,
Where "Chur" means all adversity,
Where every snowflake - joy ...

Where dad - young and strong,
Where do I want to cry without a mother,
Where the wood and pink, and blue,
Santa Claus so rosy ...

Where nothing tastier icicles,
Where his own toys kleish,
Where semolina porridge in the pot,
Where orange when you are sick.

Where a bitter medicine in a spoon,
Where to froth milk in a glass,
Where wrapped in a blanket cat,
Where is Aunt Valya on the screen.

Where is happiness - if the mother house,
Where the mountain - if you go to bed,
And there is nothing more precious album,
And there is nothing worse than "Wash!»

Where the smell of the Christmas tree tangerines,
Where under the tables housewarming,
Where the nose biting scarf poignant,
Where the angle - payment for fun ...