The common graves
by Vladimir Vysotsky
On common graves you could hardly find cross,
And widows don't cry ever-
There someone will bring the bouquet of the roses,
And burn the Eternal Flame there.
And here the earth had gone upwards from bombs,
Today-here're the granit gravestones.
And hardly you'll find any personal tomb,
Together all fates here're joined.
But suddenly you'll see in Flame-the burned tank,
The firing huts in the village,
And burning Smolensk,and the burning Reichstag,
And heart, burning bright, of the soldier.
You can't find a widow at common graves,
The people, who come here, are strong,
On those graves no one would place a cross,
But is this more easy to hold?