by Andrei Boikov <br /> <br />As often was in childhood, <br />That, when I fell to earth, <br />My mother said: 'You shoudn't, true, <br />Take care! Only blow! ' <br /> <br />And she blew on my wounded knee, <br />This seemed as a perfect magic, <br />The pain went out slowly, <br />And further went we gayly. <br /> <br />The years passed. A lot of grief <br />They brought, my mother passed... <br />And life - was kicking, beating me, <br />No one wished blowing up. <br /> <br />But through the pain I scrawled wayward - <br />Through frenzy circling days. <br />And here my son is crying a lot: <br />'Mother! ' - on his knee's pain. <br /> <br />I take his wounded pawn and blow, <br />Trying to take off grief! <br />My son says: 'Thank you, Papa, now! ' <br />And pain goes out of me...<br /><br />Lyudmila Purgina<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/a-boikov-as-often-was-in-childhood-transl-rus/
