Village.

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/ The bright memory of my stepfather -

From his poetic heritage /

Lesnaya village, native village,

It smells of a thick and tarry pine tree.

I'm making my way to you from the far edge

By plane, on foot along the Lesnoy path.

Lesnaya village, native village,

In the distance from the roads, it was lost in the wilderness.

It smells of a thick and tarry pine with a spruce

Here they are currently in the spring on the hoods of the capercaillie.

Along the pond at the edge of the alternate hut,

And all around all the forests are near and in the distance,

In the reeds of the shores of an nameless rivulet,

It has burbot, roach, and even sandcaries.

My childhood passed here, I will not forget it

And his native eyes escorted on the way.

My village, you are with me everywhere, everywhere,

Well, I'm not with you, if you can - I'm sorry.