Текст песни Г.Буляков, сл.Л.Фисейской - Крымские маки

Crimean poppies lit up over the sea
On a slope of granite rock.
The wind trembles, rinse it,
The summer sun burns.

Crimean poppies grow on stones
So life has not ended.
Red poppies in the wheat fields
Near the ears of rye.
2
Scarlet poppies along dusty roads
In the manes of feather grass
The wind brought the seeds to the threshold
Poppies burn like a torch.

Were fueled during the war
Donated blood of people.
And because of them with guilt
The eyes of the mothers are watching.

Losing

Crimean poppies are fragrant, tender.
The colors of the banners of war,
Survived the hardest days
A song was piled about them.