Текст песни 1941-1945 - стих

Much has gone out in memory today,
but a trifle lives, a trifle:
girl lost doll
on iron crossed paths.

Above the platform of steam from steam locomotives
swam low, going into the plain ...
Warm rain whispered in the birches,
but no one noticed the rain.

Echelons then went to the east,
walked in silence, without light and water,
full of sudden and violent
bitter human misfortune.

The girl screamed and begged
and was torn from a mother's hands, -
seemed so beautiful to her
and coveted this doll suddenly.

But nobody gave her toys
and the crowd, hurrying to boarding,
the doll was trampled by the teplushka
into liquid flowing mud.

Little will not believe death
and she won't understand parting ...
So even with this tiny loss
the war reached out to her.

Nowhere to get away from the terrible thought:
this is not a toy, not a trifle, -
it may be a fragment of childhood
on the iron, crossed, paths.