station square peramogi.y to you, to whom i have had a history with her, and i have followed my trail, following me for many winters and years, i ask you, i don’t know who the war is, i ask you, my daughters! and my sons know at least a share of my memory, so long as it doesn’t become overgrown with grass, i don’t care about the hours, i don’t know about the hours , i want to sleep with you, i pass on my memory to you. the mother has grown old for many years, oveste from her son, no and no, but she still continues to wait, because she believes, because her mother has something to hope for. for many years, since the war ended, many years since everyone came back, except for the dead, that lie in the ground, how many of them, then the distant fun. the beardless boys did not come, once they sent them to the village in the spring, a documentary film about the war, everyone came to the cinema old and young, who knew the war who did not, before the bitter memory of human diversity. alyoshenka, son, as if her son co