also on social networks, i say goodbye to you, all the best.

like the sky in the early days, which is in the right of the racing forest, at the beginning of the evil dawns, the creatures and the light are rising, and the fall is known, the azers of ours are woven with charms, smiling at the suns, look for yourself and not from the sea, the bottom, which is gilded, pіў i would like to get rid of them without end, accumulated.

we introduce you to the architectural memories of belarus from different eras and centuries. the tsarka itself is three-piece and may adzin the top, as we always do, the belfry. bathed like covering the central part of the temple, its mass, with such baroque creases. let's look at their history and basic facts. the paselishcha that became the sweaty meatheads of the heathen was not here. there was a porch, a stone, an icon, and a saber. and the hell of the monastery itself began to develop. expressive of such and rare, acquired and the sunny hour of the rush of the slaughter of meat , the abhad gallery is here. yana is a squealer, such a jumper.

ivan kuzmich zakharov, one of the organizers and leaders of the communist underground and partisan movement in the vitebsk region. at the beginning of the great

patriotic war, he was evacuated to the soviet rear, in november 1941 he was sent to the territory occupied by nazi troops to organize a partisan movement in the asveysky district of the vitebsk region. in april of 1942, he organized and headed a partisan detachment, which consisted of only 11 people. the detachment quickly grew stronger and grew in number, by june of 1942 the partisans had moved from small-scale sabotage to operations against large enemy forces. in during the execution of the assigned tasks, the people's avengers under the leadership of zakharov, saving their comrades, women, old people and children , showed miracles of heroism and selflessness. for exemplary performance of tasks. hero of the soviet union. with the award

of the order of lenin and the gold star medal. from the great-grandfathers of the yakovsky, we were left with

the heritage of the borders of our own and strangers, which we caressed with our own. oh, i sing fairy tales dreams, spring secrets, and dried up twilight, or your spirit of natvalina.

i go and not in existence the red field is scorched and what i eat nutnaya.

sweet and bitter here under the native star, and i am forever in. the valley of mutual cry of autumn birches, i am not said, the genus of neginy, the heart from here took away, the seas of the mountains on the zorit of the prinitsakh,

bright. and we are in the distance the faithful heart will always dream of the miracle. of the birthplace of the land, cook the hill, miracle, krenitsa, let it be my path, i will fly. well to you the first bird of your songs to scoop up, again i go, white

rovs, here i recognize by the star, here the yagus braids flew. my first song, the faithful heart will always dream of the miracle the mouths of the earth. i

will not add you to anyone, i will not add you, maybe you will not believe it yourself, do not love anyone, you as i do, about you, about one only my song. for you alone, besides the night sky, sunbathe, far away my eyes are brighter, do not look at others, secretly from me.

when the dim dawn barely dawns, the streets are still empty, but i already know that there will be a day of wonders. dreams, because in this day there is you, when all the shadows are sad,

the lazy rain is dazzling, the leaves are trembling in the wind, after the gloomy gloom, a beautiful day will come, because in... there you are, always my love with me, with you alone, years will pass, i don't need more happiness , just to have you always by my side. i

'm always ready to argue with the wind, my love. with me, with you alone, years will pass, i'm happy, god. i don't need more, just to have you always by my side, i'm ready to argue with the wind, i'm ready to move mountains, to fulfill all your dreams.

only the first i climbed, on the hoarfrosts we climbed, over the awakened news the mats swirled, swirled, swirled. the mats swirled, the sun through the heavens was scattered across the earth, under the screens danced with the wings of little mothers, little mothers, little mothers, and the little boys on the yay with

vasilko were sleeping. eight and eight are patched, the films of the strainer are crushed, they are melting, they are melting, the cranes and matsels

are melting, they are melting. eight crabs and mothers, not forever, recent, the days of youth have come, the young mothers will flare up with evil spirits, the young mothers will wave, the young mothers, the young, young mothers,

oh, who is a wife and not a wife, the one who would... walk like spring, the one, which is a wife and not a wife, but the draft is not prickly explained that i missed the love bird chance, the one that let's go, it's blooming, the one that will come or won't come, the one... that is alone, it's blooming , the one that will come and won't come.

ivan tea, call the purple flower, help me say not words, but love, the one that rises like spring, the one that is mine and not mine, the one that rises like spring, the one that is mine. and not mine, the one that is mine and not mine, the one that is mine and not mine. only for our

tv viewers we choose the best routes. it's hard to believe, but once upon a time there were age-old forests on this land. we are in tolochin, welcome. and we set off on exciting travel. there was extensive trade, lavender was also brought to friends.

letter from forty-fifth, look at the picture , my friend, my dear, i am with our guys in it, look how young i am, special mountain newspaper of the front you looked at us, searched with a truflake, took the address with you, and we again

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