by Andrei Boikov br br As often was in childhood, br That, when I fell to earth, br My mother said: 'You shoudn't, true, br Take care! Only blow! ' br br And she blew on my wounded knee, br This seemed as a perfect magic, br The pain went out slowly, br And further went we gayly. br br The years passed. A lot of grief br They brought, my mother passed... br And life - was kicking, beating me, br No one wished blowing up. br br But through the pain I scrawled wayward - br Through frenzy circling days. br And here my son is crying a lot: br 'Mother! ' - on his knee's pain. br br I take his wounded pawn and blow, br Trying to take off grief! br My son says: 'Thank you, Papa, now! ' br And pain goes out of me...