friend Rosa
Asadov EA
ORGANIZER Brest Fortress
Samvel Matevosyan
For every flower and every flower
I am grateful to people almost to the grave.
I love flowers! But among them especially
I have this little rose in his soul saved.
A huge, proud, dark-red,
Smelling like a garden,
There it was, wrapped in her dress
Once in royal beautiful.
It is now able to nurture such a,
Auxiliary blue water of Lake Sevan,
Sun and songs of Yerevan
My cheerful friend Samvel.
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the ninth of May, in our day a soldier,
With his back still hear the humming IL,
Galloping, he embraced me as a brother
And here is my miracle handed.
He said: - We have a lot of roads stamped,
For the peace that we all more awards
Take the same flower as a soldier of Sebastopol
As a gift from Brest Friends soldiers.
Accept, my dear, and as a poet,
This one small symbol of life.
And in memory of those who are not with us,
Whose blood is painted was the dawn -
The first military dawn homeland.
I was standing and seemed to be dumb ...
Heart of a sudden the sweet anguish wrung.
Well, I tell you, friend Samvel?
You are so warmed my heart now ...
Any thanks is not enough!
You're right: we were quite a few with you,
And yet the beginning of the road of fame -
At Brest. Under one common wall,
Where he took with friends you first fight
And people forget it is not right!
To restore peace and warmth and laughter,
You first got up, heads are not hiding
And the first is always harder all
In any trouble, and in the war - even more so!
Dawn flashed past years,
As if the fires in the steep roadsides.
But whether we sadly watch them go!
Because it is a pity in vain in the past years,
But if done properly - if not very!
Evening descends on Moscow
Gently topping gilding in the paint,
All seemed red and blue,
Holiday, quiet and very May.
But in this vernal grace
Fireworks boomed and flowery burst
As if on command star slammed
Giant-fire print.
That thunder, then a momentary silence,
And once again, scattering lights and arrows,
Falling joyful wave
But brighter than all, in a blue glass windows -
The flame-red flower Samvel!
As a small torch burning in the night,
He seemed to be growing, enveloping warmth.
And now you can see how there, in the fires
With crashed bricks
How to brew, rearing like a horse
As if playing hide and seek with death,
Courageous, tiny figurines,
Racing across, firing.
And then, as a heap of stones and bodies,
Rising to meet the lead and gloom,
Anyone who has managed to survive,
Fearless and daring Komsomol organizer Samvel
Leads to a desperate attack.
However, silent and faded color blizzard
And the vision disappeared outside.
Only burns on my desk
Crimson roses - a gift of one another.
Lights on the agitated mood setting,
All petty driving away from the soul,
How solemn reflection of fire,
Forever lit in honor of the heroes!