When itís cold we may Feel a traveling zest - Other cities attract us away. Fly to Kiev or Brest When itís cold we may. There must be a cause Why we eagerly run To new places from homely chores, Kind of, thereís more fun... There must be a cause. Homes warm us and yet Ill at ease we remain, We still long for new friends to be met, Seems, they can heal the pain We alone would get. Though the visits we pay, Make us happy we are Coming back, feelings in disarray, Where is our star? Here or far away?
© George Tokarev. Translation, 2006
Edited by Robert Titterton