Short poems about the homeland for children. One native land

P. Voronko

Crane-crane-crane!
He flew over a hundred lands.
Flew around, walked around,
Wings, legs strained.
We asked the crane:
-Where is the best land? - He answered, flying:
- There is no better native land!

Motherland

M. Yu. Lermontov

I love my fatherland, but with a strange love!
My reason will not defeat her.
Nor glory bought with blood,
Nor the peace full of proud trust,
Nor the dark old treasured legends
No joyful dreams stir within me.

But I love - for what, I don’t know myself -
Its steppes are coldly silent,
Her boundless forests sway,
The floods of its rivers are like seas;
On a country road I like to ride in a cart
And, with a slow gaze piercing the shadow of the night,
Meet on the sides, sighing for an overnight stay,
The trembling lights of sad villages;
I love the smoke of burnt stubble,
A convoy spending the night in the steppe
And on a hill in the middle of a yellow field
A couple of white birches.
With joy unknown to many,
I see a complete threshing floor
A hut covered with straw
Window with carved shutters;
And on a holiday, on a dewy evening,
Ready to watch until midnight
To dance with stomping and whistling
Under the talk of drunken men.

Go away, Rus'

Goy, Rus', my dear,
The huts are in the robes of the image...
No end in sight -
Only blue sucks his eyes.
Like a visiting pilgrim,
I'm looking at your fields.
And at the low outskirts
The poplars are dying loudly.
Smells like apple and honey
Through the churches, your meek Savior.
And it buzzes behind the bush
There is a merry dance in the meadows.
I'll run along the crumpled stitch
Free green forests,
Towards me, like earrings,
A girl's laughter will ring out.
If the holy army shouts:
“Throw away Rus', live in paradise!”
I will say: “There is no need for heaven,
Give me my homeland."

Sergey Yesenin
1914

For peace, for children

In any part of any country
The guys don't want war.
They will have to enter into life soon,
They need peace, not war,
The green noise of the native forest,
They all need school
And the garden at the peaceful threshold,
Father and mother and father's house.
There's a lot of space in this world
For those who are used to living by hard work.
Our people raised an imperious voice
For all children, for peace, for work!
Let every ear of corn ripen in the field,
Gardens are blooming, forests are growing!
Who sows bread in a peaceful field,
Builds factories, cities,
The one for the children of the orphan's share
He will never wish!

E. Trutneva

About the Motherland

What is called my homeland?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?

That autumn birch tree over there?
Or spring drops?
Or maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a frosty winter day?

Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without my mother's care, dear,
And without friends I don’t feel the same.

That's what is called the Motherland!
To always be side by side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!

Oh, Motherland!

Oh, Motherland! In a dim glow
I catch with my trembling gaze
Your woodlands, copses - Everything that I love without memory:

And the rustle of the white-trunked grove,
And the blue smoke in the distance is empty,
And a rusty cross over the bell tower,
And a low hill with a star...

My grievances and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone there is consolation
And my healing.

A. V. Zhigulin

Motherland

Motherland is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with your soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!

It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, dear apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.

Sunny bunny in the palm of your hand
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek there is a mole -
This is also the Motherland.

Tatyana Bokova

Vast country

If for a long, long, long time
We're going to fly on the plane,
If for a long, long, long time
We should look at Russia.
We'll see then
And forests and cities,
Ocean spaces,
Ribbons of rivers, lakes, mountains...

We will see the distance without edge,
Tundra, where spring rings.
And then we will understand what
Our Motherland is big,
An immense country.

Russia is my Motherland!

Russia - You are like a second mother to me,
I grew and grew before Your eyes.
I walk forward confidently and straight,
And I believe in God who lives in heaven!

I love the ringing of Your church bells,
And our rural flowering fields,
I love people, kind and spiritual,
Who were raised by the Russian Land!

I love slender, tall birch trees -
Our sign and symbol of Russian beauty.
I look at them and make sketches,
Like an artist I write my poems.

I could never part with you,
Because I love You with all my heart and soul.
War will come and I will go to fight,
At any moment I want to be only with You!

And if it ever happens,
That fate will separate us from you
I will fight like a bird in a tight cage,
And every Russian here will understand me!

E. Kislyakov

Motherland

We don’t carry them on our chests in our treasured amulet,
We don’t write poems about her sobbingly,
She doesn't wake up our bitter dreams,
Doesn't seem like the promised paradise.
We don’t do it in our souls
Subject of purchase and sale,
Sick, in poverty, speechless on her,
We don't even remember her.
Yes, for us it’s dirt on our galoshes,
Yes, for us it's a crunch in the teeth.
And we grind, and knead, and crumble
Those unmixed ashes.
But we lie down in it and become it,
That's why we call it so freely - ours.

Anna Akhmatova

Native picture

Flocks of birds. Road tape.
A fallen fence.
From the foggy sky
The dim day looks sad,

A row of birches, and the view is sad
Roadside pillar.
As if under the weight of heavy sorrow,
The hut swayed.

Half-light and half-dark, -
And you involuntarily rush into the distance,
And involuntarily crushes the soul
Endless sadness.

Konstantin Balmont

Motherland

I will return to you, fields of my fathers,
Peaceful oak groves, sacred shelter to the heart!
I will return to you, home icons!
Let others respect the laws of decency;
Let others honor the jealous judgment of the ignorant;
Free at last from vain hopes,
From restless dreams, from windy desires,
Having drunk the whole cup of trials untimely,
Not the ghost of happiness, but I need happiness.
Tired worker, I hasten to my native country
Fall asleep in the desired sleep under the roof of your dear one.
O fatherly house! O land, always beloved!
Dear heavens! my silent voice
In pensive verses I sang you in a foreign land,
You will bring me peace and happiness.
Like a swimmer in a pier, tested by bad weather,
He listens with a smile, sitting above the abyss,
And the thunderous whistle of the storm and the rebellious roar of the waves,
So, the sky is not begging for honors and gold,
A calm homebody in my unknown house,
Hiding from the crowd of demanding judges,
In the circle of your friends, in the circle of your family,
I will look from afar at the storms of light.
No, no, I will not cancel my sacred vow!
Let the fearless hero fly to the tents;
Let bloody battles young lover
He studies with excitement, ruining his golden watch,
The science of measuring combat trenches -
Since childhood, I have loved the sweetest works.
The diligent, peaceful plow, exploding the reins,
More honorable than the sword; useful in a modest way,
I want to cultivate my father's field.
Oratai, who reached the ancient days over the plow,
In sweet worries my mentor will be;
My decrepit father's sons are hardworking
They will help clarify hereditary fields.
And you, my old friend, my faithful well-wisher,
My zealous nurturer, you, the first vegetable garden
Who scouted his father's fields in the days of yore!
You will lead me to your dense gardens,
Tell me the names of the trees and flowers;
I myself, when a luxurious spring comes from heaven
Will breathe the joy of the resurrected nature,
I will appear in the garden with a heavy spade;
I’ll come with you to plant roots and flowers.
O blessed feat! you will not be in vain:
The goddess of pastures is more grateful to fortune!
For them an unknown age, for them a pipe and strings;
They are available to everyone and to me for easy work
They will reward you abundantly with juicy fruits.
From the ridges and the spade I hasten to the fields and the plow;
And where the stream flows through the velvet meadow
The desert streams roll thoughtfully,
On a clear spring day, I myself, my friends,
I’ll plant a secluded forest near the shore,
And fresh linden and silvered poplar;
My young great-grandson will rest in their shade;
There friendship will once hide my ashes
And instead of marble he will put it on the tomb
And my peaceful spade and my peaceful spear.

Evgeny Baratynsky

There is a sweet country, there is a corner on earth

There is a sweet country, there is a corner on earth,
Wherever, wherever you are - in the midst of a riotous camp,
In the Armidine gardens, on a fast ship,
Having fun wandering the plains of the ocean, -
We are always carried away by our thoughts;
Where, alien to base passions,
We assign a limit to everyday exploits,
Where the world we hope to forget someday
And close the old eyelids
We wish you the last, eternal sleep.

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I remember a clear, clean pond;
Over the canopy of branchy birches,
Among the peaceful waters its three islands bloom;
Brightening the fields between their wavy groves,
Behind him there is a mountain, in front of him there is a noise in the bushes
And the mill splashes. Village, wide meadow,
And there is a happy home... the soul flies there,
I wouldn’t be cold there even in my deep old age!
There the languid, sick heart found
The answer to everything that was burning inside him,
And again for love, for friendship it blossomed
And happiness understood again.
Why the languid sigh and tears in the eyes?
She, with a painful blush on her cheeks,
She, who is not there, flashed before me.
Rest, rest easily under the grave turf:
A memory alive
We will not be separated from you!
We're crying... but I'm sorry! The sadness of love is sweet.
Tears of regret are wonderful!
Or cold, harsh melancholy,
The dry sorrow of disbelief.

Evgeny Baratynsky

Rus

You are extraordinary even in your dreams.
I won't touch your clothes.

And in secret - you will rest, Rus'.

Rus' is surrounded by rivers
And surrounded by wilds,
With swamps and cranes,
And with the dull gaze of a sorcerer,

Where are the diverse peoples
From edge to edge, from valley to valley
They lead night dances
Under the glow of burning villages.

Where are the sorcerers and sorcerers?
The grains in the fields are enchanting
And the witches are having fun with the devils
In road snow pillars.

Where the blizzard sweeps violently
Up to the roof - fragile housing,
And the girl on the evil friend
Under the snow it sharpens the blade.

Where are all the paths and all the crossroads
Exhausted with a living stick,
And a whirlwind whistling in the bare twigs,
Sings old legends...

So - I found out in my slumber
Country of birth poverty,
And in the scraps of her rags
I hide my nakedness from my soul.

The path is sad, night
I trampled to the graveyard,
And there, spending the night in the cemetery,
He sang songs for a long time.

And I didn’t understand, I didn’t measure,
To whom did I dedicate the songs?
What god did you passionately believe in?
What kind of girl did you love?

I rocked a living soul,
Rus', in your vastness you are,
And so - she did not stain
Initial purity.

I doze - and behind the doze there is a secret,
And Rus' rests in secret.
She is extraordinary in dreams too,
I won't touch her clothes.

Alexander Blok

About Motherland

O Motherland, O new
Shelter with a golden roof,
Trumpet, moo cow,
Roar the body of thunder.

I wander through the blue villages,
Such grace
Desperate, cheerful,
But I am all about you, mother.

At the school of revelry
I strengthened my flesh and mind.
From the birch tree
Your spring noise is growing.

I love your vices
And drunkenness and robbery,
And in the morning in the east
Lose yourself as a star.

And all of you, as I know,
I want to crush it and take it,
And I curse bitterly
Because you are my mother.

Sergey Yesenin

Is it my side, my side?

Is it my side, my side,
Burning streak.
Only the forest and the salt shaker,
Yes, the spit beyond the river...

The old church is withering away,
Throwing a cross into the clouds.
And a sick cuckoo
Doesn't fly from sad places.

Is it for you, my side,
In high water every year
With a pad and a knapsack
Goddamn sweat pours out.

Faces are dusty, tanned,
The eyelid has gnawed away the distance,
And dug into the thin body
Sadness saved the meek.

Sergey Yesenin

You can't understand Russia with your mind

You can't understand Russia with your mind,
The general arshin cannot be measured:
She will become special -
You can only believe in Russia.

Fedor Tyutchev

These poor villages

These poor villages
This meager nature
The native land of long-suffering,
You are the land of the Russian people!

He won't understand or notice
Proud look of a foreigner,
What shines through and secretly shines
In your humble nakedness.

Dejected by the burden of the godmother,
All of you, dear land,
In slave form, the King of Heaven
He came out blessing.

Fedor Tyutchev

From the wilds the fogs timidly

From the wilds the fogs timidly
My native village was closed;
But the spring sun warmed me
And the wind blew them away.

To know, to wander for a long time and get bored
Over the vastness of lands and seas,
A cloud is reaching home,
Just to cry over her.

Afanasy Fet

Homeland

They mock you
They, O Motherland, reproach
You with your simplicity,
Poor looking black huts...

So son, calm and impudent,
Ashamed of his mother -
Tired, timid and sad
Among his city friends,

Looks with a smile of compassion
To the one who wandered hundreds of miles
And for him, on the date of the date,
She saved her last penny.

Ivan Bunin

Russia

In the hundredth glow of the fire,
Under the ardent cry of worldwide hostility,
In the smoke of untamed storms, -
Your appearance radiates with imperious charm:
Ruby and sapphire crown
The azure pierced above the clouds!

Russia! in the evil days of Batu
Who, who to the Mongol flood
Built the dam, weren't you?
Whose, in tense will, howl,
For the price of slavery, she saved Europe
From Genghis Khan's heel?

But from the deep depths of shame,
From the darkness of constant humiliation,
Suddenly, with a bright cry from the fire, -
Is it not you, with the scorching steel of your gaze,
Ascended to the sovereignty of commands
During the days of Peter's revolution?

And again, at the hour of global reckoning,
Breathing through cannon barrels,
Your chest swallowed fire, -
All ahead, country leader,
You raised a torch above the darkness,
Illuminating the way for the people.

What do we have to do with this terrible force?
Where are you, who dares to contradict?
Where are you, who can know fear?
We just have to do what you decide
We - to be with you, we - to praise
Your greatness endures for centuries!

Valery Bryusov

Russia

Again, like in the golden years,
Three worn out flapping harnesses,
And the painted knitting needles knit
Into loose ruts...

Russia, poor Russia,
I want your gray huts,
Your songs are like wind to me, -
Like the first tears of love!

I don't know how to feel sorry for you
And I carefully carry my cross...
Which sorcerer do you want?
Give me your robber beauty!

Let him lure and deceive, -
You won't be lost, you won't perish,
And only care will cloud
Your beautiful features...

Well? One more concern -
The river is noisier with one tear
And you are still the same - forest and field,
Yes, the patterned board goes up to the eyebrows...

And the impossible is possible
The long road is easy
When the road flashes in the distance
An instant glance from under a scarf,
When it rings with guarded melancholy
The dull song of the coachman!..

Alexander Blok

***
Winter evening
Nikolay Rubtsov

The wind is not the wind -
I'm leaving home!
It's familiar in the stable
The straw crunches
And the light is shining...

And more -
not a sound!
Not a light!
Blizzard in the darkness
Flying over bumps...

Eh, Rus', Russia!
Why am I not calling enough?
Why are you sad?
Why did you doze off?

Let's wish
Good night everybody!
Let's go for a walk!
Let's have a laugh!

And we'll have a holiday,
And we'll reveal the cards...
Eh! The trump cards are fresh.
And the same fools.

***
“My quiet homeland!..”
Nikolay Rubtsov

Quiet my homeland!
Willows, river, nightingales...
My mother is buried here
In my childhood years.

Where is the churchyard? You did not see?
I can’t find it myself.-
The residents answered quietly:
- It's on the other side.

The residents answered quietly,
The convoy passed quietly.
Church monastery dome
Overgrown with bright grass.

Where I swam for fish
Hay is rowed into the hayloft:
Between river bends
People dug a canal.

Tina is now a swamp
Where I loved to swim...
My quiet homeland
I haven't forgotten anything.

New fence in front of the school
The same green space.
Like a cheerful crow
I'll sit on the fence again!

My school is wooden!..
The time will come to leave -
The river behind me is foggy
He will run and run.

With every bump and cloud,
With thunder ready to fall,
I feel the most burning
The most mortal connection.

***
Star of the Fields
Nikolay Rubtsov

Star of the fields, in the icy darkness
Stopping, he looks into the wormwood.
The clock has already rung twelve,
And sleep enveloped my homeland...

Star of the fields! In moments of turmoil
I remembered how quiet it was behind the hill
She burns over the autumn gold,
It burns over the winter silver...

The star of the fields burns without fading,
For all the anxious inhabitants of the earth,
Touching with your welcoming ray
All the cities that rose in the distance.

But only here, in the icy darkness,
She rises brighter and fuller,
And I'm happy as long as I'm in this world
The star of my fields is burning, burning...

***
HOMELAND
Konstantin Simonov

Touching the three great oceans,
She lies, spreading out the cities,
Covered with a grid of meridians,
Invincible, wide, proud.

But at the hour when the last grenade
Already in your hand
And in a short moment you need to remember at once
All we have left is in the distance

You don't remember a big country,
Which one have you traveled and learned?
Do you remember your homeland - like this,
How you saw her as a child.

A piece of land, leaning against three birch trees,
The long road behind the forest,
A small river with a creaking carriage,
Sandy shore with low willow trees.

This is where we were lucky to be born,
Where for life, until death, we found
That handful of earth that is suitable,
To see in it the signs of the whole earth.

Yes, you can survive in the heat, in thunderstorms, in frosts,
Yes, you can go hungry and cold,
Go to death... But these three birches
You can't give it to anyone while you're alive.

There the skies and waters are clear!

V. Zhukovsky

There the skies and waters are clear!
There the songs of the birds are sweet!
O homeland! all your days are beautiful!
Wherever I am, but everything is with you
Soul.

Do you remember how under the mountain,
Silvered with dew,
The ray turned white in the evening
And silence flew into the forest
From heaven?

Do you remember our calm pond,
And the shadow from the willows at the sultry hour of noon,
And over the water there is a discordant roar from the herd,
And in the bosom of the waters, as if through glass,
Village?

There, at dawn, a little bird sang;
The distance lit up and brightened;
There, there my soul flew:
It seemed to the heart and eyes -
Everything is there!..

Either a birch or a rowan

Willow bush over the river -

Native land, forever beloved,

Where can you find still like this!
A. Alien

I found out that I have
There is a huge family
And the path and the forest
Every spikelet in the field
River, blue sky
This is all my family
This is my homeland
I love everyone in the world!
V. Orlov

You don't choose your parents and homeland.
You can live anywhere, but your homeland will be here - where you were born, where your parents were born and where they later went into the distance.
What happened to the Motherland? why is everything like this? is there any hope for changing what will happen in the future?
And what will happen here in 20 years, when our children grow up, or in 100 years, when their grandchildren grow up.
And will it happen at all?
It is believed that Russia is God’s chosen country, Russians are the chosen people, after the Jews did not justify the trust placed in them :)
Chosen for what? - change and save this world? That's why they are different from others, that's why they live and suffer.
Russian is also an interesting word. In old books, “Russians” were often used as a synonym for “Orthodox.”
Who are the Russians? Those who live here, on this land, for whom Russia is the Motherland.

..
It all starts with children.
they absorb everything - everything they see and
heard around. And even more. They have not yet lost the ability to capture
thoughts, feelings and emotions surrounding them. What man once owned
but was subsequently lost in the process of its evolution. the same way
The child also goes through the “development of civilization” - from embryo to little man,
bursting into tears in the arms of a young mother. He hears and feels his mother
without words, just like she during this period “remembers” the lost when
then ability. As the child grows up, this telepathic connection
weakens and at the age of five or six the child becomes an “ordinary person” -
can see, hear, touch, feel. Sometimes this ability
suddenly manifests itself in adulthood - usually at some important
critical moments related to the health and life of loved ones.

But now, I don’t want to talk about that.

Future. What is this? what will happen in an hour, tomorrow, in a month, a year.
What will come after us are our children.
It starts with them.
What is the future that awaits us, and even more so, theirs - our children?

Sometimes
It's getting scary. Not only from what is clearly visible - ecology,
smoldering and flaring wars, terrorism, national contradictions and
etc.
In addition to all this, what is frightening is that at first glance it may not seem very important, not so scary.

But this is precisely what prevents humanity from changing for the better.
What, how and in what environment our children grow up
What
they are surrounded by what they see around them, what and how their parents talk,
how they communicate with family and friends. what do they do in their free time,
what they watch on TV, what they laugh at, etc.
Children absorb everything. M We often underestimate them. They may notice things that wouldn't even occur to us. And sometimes they themselves educate us.
They suffer when we - their parents, the people closest to them - quarrel, swear, scream.
They
they really get sick when they see that it brings mom and dad closer - they
saving their world - their family. What if there is a divorce?..
And besides such obvious tragedies...
Even
if everything is fine at home, in the family. How does a small child feel?
is a person a little man in the world? in the kindergarten, on the street, in the store?

They laugh at me. They say that I draw poorly, don’t know how to dance and dress ugly.
and also... no, I won’t say.
- what happened, daughter? don't worry, what's the matter? Mom loves you, don’t be afraid, speak up.
- they speak badly about you.
- bad words? are they fighting?
- .. they say that you are not beautiful.
- do you believe them?
- no about you. You are very beautiful to me. and dad says the same.
- what about the rest? You dance and go to art school. Do you dance or draw worse than them?
- Mom, they don’t know how to draw at all. but others listen to them and speak also.
- don't trust them. they see that you are doing well and are probably jealous.
- but I’m not pleased and offended. I won't dance in kindergarten anymore. and I don’t want to draw.

Of course, she is different from many of the other children in the group.
A
will go to school. Even if you manage to choose and get into a good one - where on
The porch is not smoked by junior, middle and high school students. And around the corner is not
empty syringes lying around...
Where vulgar programs and stupid cartoons will be discussed, and if you cannot participate in this, you will become an outcast.
"Scarecrow."

Random
fragment from Shrek, just caught it during lunch break - Fiona sings to her
the bird sings along, the pitch rises - the voice gets higher and stronger until
until bam! - the bird bursts, we see three eggs that it
hatched in the nest. The next shot is a sizzling scrambled egg for Shrek. -
funny?
in general, we don’t even notice it. - there are much worse and more disgusting things around. but this all surrounds them from childhood.
If everyone laughs at a scene from a cartoon, it means it’s not scary, but funny. - Cool!

She watches other cartoons, listens to other music. - she will be different from the crowd. it will be hard for her.
When she and her mother have to travel on a minibus, she says, “Mom, why are the songs so bad, what a rude voice.”
It will be hard for her, just like for her mother, who has not learned to respond to rudeness and rudeness.
- Daughter, let me show you how to stand up for yourself. Now I’m starting to pinch you - push me!
Smiles. can not. - “I’d better go away.”

The worst thing is how, in what environment, in what “environment” our children grow up.
If
suddenly, on Sunday morning, at breakfast you turn on the TV and not the DVD
or a computer book and see a good cartoon, a children's film, and then
suddenly there will be an advertisement-announcement with flashes of accidents, corpses, explosions and all sorts of
other things - what will remain in the child’s memory, in his subconscious?
-fear, uncertainty, feeling of defenselessness and hopelessness, bewilderment...

We haven't watched TV for a long time. but if sometimes you turn it on and get something like this...
-
maybe this is really a deliberate impact. - they form their own
future. They will be comfortable with such well-mannered people.
the future as they want it to be.

The child gets used to it from childhood
the violence, stupidity, rudeness, vulgarity and bad taste surrounding him. He
stops noticing all this, it becomes the norm of life - he’s just
doesn't know, different.

How will she continue to grow and live if now
Having seen the above described at breakfast, she says, “Let’s better
Let's watch "Girls".

..Move away.. - many see salvation in this. Leave if you can’t change anything, leave if you can’t change yourself..
I don’t know.. Perhaps this is really a way out.
But..
I was born here, this is what I was taught at school: in Russia - Russians...
This is my homeland.

Become like “everyone else” in order to survive?
or
How can “everyone” become different so that the future can change?

Hills, copses,
Meadows and fields -
Native, green
Our land.
The land where I made
Your first step
Where did you once come out?
To the fork in the road.
And I realized what it was
Expanse of fields -
A piece of the great
My fatherland. (G. Ladonshchikov)

Our Motherland!

And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
It's a long drive from the capital
To any of its borders.

Everything around you is your own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
The rivers sparkle blue,
Blue skies.

Every city
Dear to the heart,
Every rural house is precious.
Everything in battles is taken at some point
And strengthened by labor! (G. Ladonshchikov)

What do we call Motherland?

What do we call Motherland?
The house where you and I live,
And the birch trees along which
We walk next to mom.

What do we call Motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs,
Warm evening outside the window.

What do we call Motherland?
Everything that we cherish in our hearts,
And under the blue-blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin. (V. Stepanov)

Motherland

Touching the three great oceans,
She lies, spreading out the cities,
Covered with a grid of meridians,
Invincible, wide, proud.

Already in your hand

All we have left is in the distance

Which one have you traveled and learned?
Do you remember your homeland - like this,
How you saw her as a child.

The long road behind the forest,

Sandy shore with low willow trees.

To see in it the signs of the whole earth.

You can't give it to anyone while you're alive.

(K. Simonov, 1941)

About the Motherland, only about the Motherland

Melody, full of light and tears?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.

The melancholy of birds flying away for the winter?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.

Motherland, only Motherland.

Motherland, dear Motherland.

About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.

And the best songs are yours and mine -
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland...

And my thoughts and my prayers -
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland. (R. Gamzatov)

Where does the Motherland begin?

Where does the Motherland begin?
From the smiles and tears of mothers;

From home to school doors.

From birch trees that have stood for centuries
On a hill in my father's land,
With a desire to touch with your hands
My beloved land.

Where does our Fatherland end?
Look - you won’t see the boundaries,
In the fields the horizon expands
With a flash of distant lightning.

And at night in its blue seas
A wave lulls the stars.
Russia has no end;
It is boundless, like a song.

So what are you? Homeland?
Fields in the copses of dawn.
Everything seems very familiar,
And you look - and your heart burns.

And it seems: you can take a running start
Take off without fear of heights,
And a blue star from the sky
Get it for your native country. (K. Ibryaev)

Russia

Russia, you are a great power,

And you have no other way.

We are proud of your cities.

The glorious capital crowns you,
And St. Petersburg preserves history.

How little we still know about you.
There is so much we have to study.

Motherland
Homeland is a big, big word!

It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!

Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.

Sunny bunny in the palm of your hand
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek there is a mole -
This is also the Motherland.
(T. Bokova)

Motherland
Spring,
cheerful,
Eternal,
good,
Plowed by tractor
Sown with happiness -
She's all there before our eyes
From south to north!
Dear homeland,
The homeland is fair-haired,
Peaceful-peaceful
Russian-Russian...
(V. Semernin)

Hello, my Motherland
In the morning the sun rises,
He's calling us to the street.
I leave the house:
- Hello, my street!

I sing in silence too
The birds sing along with me.
The herbs whisper to me on the way:
- Hurry up, my friend, grow up!

I answer to herbs,
I answer the wind
I answer the sun:
- Hello, my Motherland!

(V. Orlov)

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Our Motherland!

And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
It's a long drive from the capital
To any of its borders.

Everything around you is your own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
The rivers sparkle blue,
Blue skies.

Every city
Dear to the heart,
Every rural house is precious.
Everything in battles is taken at some point
And strengthened by labor! (G. Ladonshchikov)

What do we call Motherland?

What do we call Motherland?
The house where you and I live,
And the birch trees along which
We walk next to mom.

What do we call Motherland?
A field with a thin spikelet,
Our holidays and songs,
Warm evening outside the window.

What do we call Motherland?
Everything that we cherish in our hearts,
And under the blue-blue sky
Russian flag over the Kremlin. (V. Stepanov)

Motherland

Touching the three great oceans,
She lies, spreading out the cities,
Covered with a grid of meridians,
Invincible, wide, proud.

But at the hour when the last grenade
Already in your hand
And in a short moment you need to remember at once
All we have left is in the distance

You don't remember a big country,
Which one have you traveled and learned?
Do you remember your homeland - like this,
How you saw her as a child.

A piece of land, leaning against three birch trees,
The long road behind the forest,
A small river with a creaky carriage.
Sandy shore with low willow trees.

This is where we were lucky to be born,
Where for life, until death, we found
That handful of earth that is suitable.
To see in it the signs of the whole earth.

Yes. You can survive in the heat, in thunderstorms, in frosts,
Yes, you can go hungry and cold,
Go to death... But these three birches
You can't give it to anyone while you're alive.

(K. Simonov, 1941)

About the Motherland, only about the Motherland

What is this song of weeping birches about?
A melody full of light and tears?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
What's behind the cold granite borders?
The melancholy of birds flying away for the winter?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.

In moments of sadness, in times of adversity
Who will take care of us and who will save us?
Motherland, only Motherland.
Who do we need to warm in the bitter cold?
And in difficult days should we regret?
Motherland, dear Motherland.

When we go on interstellar flight,
What is our earthly heart singing about?
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland.
We live in the name of goodness and love,
And the best songs are yours and mine -
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland...

Under the scorching sun and snow dust
And my thoughts and my prayers -
About the Motherland, only about the Motherland. (R. Gamzatov)

Where does the Motherland begin?

Where does the Motherland begin?
From the smiles and tears of mothers;
From the path the boys walked,
From home to school doors.

From birch trees that have stood for centuries
On a hill in my father's land,
With a desire to touch with your hands
My beloved land.

Where does our Fatherland end?
Look - you won't see the boundaries,
In the fields the horizon expands
With a flash of distant lightning.

And at night in its blue seas
A wave lulls the stars.
Russia has no end;
It is boundless, like a song.

So what are you? Homeland?
Fields in the copses of dawn.
Everything seems very familiar,
And you look and your heart burns.

And it seems: you can take a running start
Take off without fear of heights,
And a blue star from the sky
Get it for your native country. (K. Ibryaev)

Russia

Russia, you are a great power,
Your spaces are infinitely large.
You have crowned yourself with glory for all ages.
And you have no other way.

The lake captivity crowns your forests.
A cascade of ridges in the mountains hides dreams.
The river flow cures thirst,
And the native steppe will give birth to bread.

We are proud of your cities.
From Brest to Vladivostok the path is open.
The glorious capital crowns you,
And St. Petersburg preserves history.

In your land of wealth there is an inexhaustible stream,
The path to your treasures lies for us.
How little we still know about you.
There is so much we have to study.

Motherland
Homeland is a big, big word!
Let there be no miracles in the world,
If you say this word with your soul,
It is deeper than the seas, higher than the skies!

It fits exactly half the world:
Mom and dad, neighbors, friends.
Dear city, dear apartment,
Grandma, school, kitten... and me.

Sunny bunny in the palm of your hand
Lilac bush outside the window
And on the cheek there is a mole -
This is also the Motherland.
(T. Bokova)

Motherland
Spring,
cheerful,
Eternal,
good,
Plowed by tractor
Sown with happiness -
She's all there before our eyes
From south to north!
Dear homeland,
The homeland is fair-haired,
Peaceful-peaceful
Russian-Russian...
(V. Semernin)

Hello, my Motherland
In the morning the sun rises,
He's calling us to the street.
I leave the house:
- Hello, my street!

I sing in silence too
The birds sing along with me.
The herbs whisper to me on the way:
- Hurry up, my friend, grow up!

I answer to herbs,
I answer the wind
I answer the sun:
- Hello, my Motherland!

Poets of all times and peoples dedicated their odes to the Motherland. But what makes the Russian language so famous is that it allows one to discover the full depth of the poet’s feelings. And pass them on to the listener. What we will try to do by quoting poets of the present and past.

About the Motherland

What is called my homeland?
I ask myself a question.
The river that winds behind the houses
Or a bush of curly red roses?

That autumn birch tree over there?
Or spring drops?
Or maybe a rainbow stripe?
Or a frosty winter day?

Everything that has been around since childhood?
But it will all be nothing
Without my mother's care, dear,
And without friends I don’t feel the same.

That's what is called the Motherland!
To always be side by side
Everyone who supports will smile,
Who needs me too!

Our Motherland (G. Ladonshchikov)

And beautiful and rich
Our Motherland, guys.
It's a long drive from the capital
To any of its borders.

Everything around you is your own, dear:
Mountains, steppes and forests:
The rivers sparkle blue,
Blue skies.

Every city
Dear to the heart,
Every rural house is precious.
Everything in battles is taken at some point
And strengthened by labor!

Oh, Motherland! (S. A. Yesenin)

O Motherland, O new
Shelter with a golden roof,
Trumpet, moo cow,
Roar the body of thunder.

I wander through the blue villages,
Such grace
Desperate, cheerful,
But I am all about you, mother.

At the school of revelry
I strengthened my flesh and mind.
From the birch tree
Your spring noise is growing.

I love your vices
And drunkenness and robbery,
And in the morning in the east
Lose yourself as a star.

And all of you, as I know,
I want to crush it and take it,
And I curse bitterly
Because you are my mother.

HOMELAND(N. Suslennikov)

The painted dawn has broken,
I go outside the outskirts.
Good morning, dear side -
My dear Fatherland.

The artel moved together into the field,
Labor is in full swing from village to village.
Axes rang through the forests,
The silence behind the mounds has gone.

Steamships are being loaded
At the piers of awakened rivers,
And about the Volga, the Russian beauty,
A man sings with inspiration.

Songs flow in an invisible stream
To the stars of happiness - to the gray
The Kremlin.
I love you, my native land,
Invariably, in Russian, I love you!

Motherland (I. A. Bunin)

They mock you
They, O Motherland, reproach
You with your simplicity,
Poor looking black huts...

So son, calm and impudent,
Ashamed of his mother -
Tired, timid and sad
Among his city friends,

Looks with a smile of compassion
To the one who wandered hundreds of miles
And for him, on the date of the date,
She saved her last penny.

Motherland ! (K. Simonov, 1941)

Touching the three great oceans,
She lies, spreading out the cities,
Covered with a grid of meridians,
Invincible, wide, proud.

But at the hour when the last grenade
Already in your hand
And in a short moment you need to remember at once
All we have left is in the distance

You don't remember a big country,
Which one have you traveled and learned?
Do you remember your homeland - like this,
How you saw her as a child.

A piece of land, leaning against three birch trees,
The long road behind the forest,
A small river with a creaky carriage.
Sandy shore with low willow trees.

This is where we were lucky to be born,
Where for life, until death, we found
That handful of earth that is suitable.
To see in it the signs of the whole earth.

Yes. You can survive in the heat, in thunderstorms, in frosts,
Yes, you can go hungry and cold,
Go to death... But these three birches
You can't give it to anyone while you're alive.

Oh, Motherland!(A.V. Zhigulin)

Oh, Motherland! In a dim glow
I catch with my trembling gaze
Your woodlands, copses - Everything that I love without memory:

And the rustle of the white-trunked grove,
And the blue smoke in the distance is empty,
And a rusty cross over the bell tower,
And a low hill with a star...

My grievances and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone there is consolation
And my healing.

Where does the Motherland begin?(K. Ibryaev)

Where does the Motherland begin?
From the smiles and tears of mothers;
From the path the boys walked,
From home to school doors.

From birch trees that have stood for centuries
On a hill in my father's land,
With a desire to touch with your hands
My beloved land.

Where does our Fatherland end?
Look - you won't see the boundaries,
In the fields the horizon expands
With a flash of distant lightning.

And at night in its blue seas
A wave lulls the stars.
Russia has no end;
It is boundless, like a song.

So what are you? Homeland?
Fields in the copses of dawn.
Everything seems very familiar,
And you look and your heart burns.

And it seems: you can take a running start
Take off without fear of heights,
And a blue star from the sky
Get it for your native country.

"Oh, Motherland!.." (A.V. Zhigulin)

Oh, Motherland! In a dim glow
I catch with my trembling gaze
Your woods, woods -
Everything I love without memory:

And the rustle of the white-trunked grove,
And the blue smoke in the distance is empty,
And a rusty cross over the bell tower,
And a low hill with a star...

My grievances and forgiveness
They will burn like old stubble.
In you alone there is consolation
And my healing.