Long have you lived and, still content To shelter from life’s storms, You cannot name a single friend To whom your lone heart warms.
When years have passed and you are old, People will turn and say: «He lived a century, poor soul, Who never lived a day.»
Или Журавли. Я бы его и выбрала, если честно
THE CRANES (Translation of Rasul Gamzatov’s 1976 poem) It seems to me sometimes that soldiers fallen, Whom bloody battlefields have rendered dead, Were buried not in soil to be forgotten, But turned into white cranes in flight instead.
From that time, since their fate became a coffin They’ve soared, and issued us a strident cry. Is that not why we sadly, and so often, Lift up our silent gaze when cranes go by?
Today, as evening yields to nightfall’s border, I see the cranes in flight, their wings unfurled, As over fields they fly in perfect order Just as they marched, when people in the world
They fly—their line extending to forever— And call out names of someone to the cold. Is that not why the song of cranes has never Been far from Avar speech since times of old?
The weary wedge of birds on expedition— It flies and flies through fog, towards the dawn, And in the ranks I notice a position-- An empty space for me, for when I’m gone!
Some day in that formation I’ll be flying; I’ll sail into the skies on my rebirth, And from the heav’ns with crane trump I’ll be crying To those of you I left upon the earth
I think summer is the best season,as it is warm and very beautiful, and it gives us a wonderful opportunity to have a rest. We can go anywhere, spend a lot of time on the bank of the river or the lake lying on fresh green grass, swimming in warm water. We can climb the mountains, play various games, ride a bike, etc. I want to tell about the highest point of my last summer vacations. In July my family went to the wood to have a picnic. We made a fire, prepared meat and put up a tent. While parents were preparing dinner I went into the wood to work up an appetite.
The wood this day was beautiful … There was a smell of flowers, honey and wild strawberry in the air. Everything around was green, only trunks of trees were brightly allocated on a dark green background. Birds were chirping their languages, a woodpecker was knocking.
And suddenly I heard suspicious sounds … As though someone hissed before me. I looked back and saw … a snake! I held my breath. I didn't remember how it looked because I got frightened and started departing slowly back, and then rushed as soon as possible to our camp. I didn't tell my mother about the event so that she wouldn't worry. Soon, having had dinner and having had fun, we went home.
Eh … How quickly time flies! It is a pity that it is impossible to recreate those moments, those feelings which you endured during vacation. But it is necessary to believe that the next summer will be so unforgettable!
Отличное сочинение! Но есть некоторые недочеты. Я бы сказала так : When I ASK my mother would she like to work in another place, for example desk job, she answers no. (либо when i askEDshe answerED) Mom said she loves her job, especially bake sweets. В этом предложении тоже надо выбрать одно время, я бы сказала так: Mom SAYS, she loves her job, especially TO bake sweets И последнее - So at home I always plenty of goodies. Тут пропущен глагол, я бы сказала так: So at home I always HAVE plenty of goodies.
Long have you lived and, still content
To shelter from life’s storms,
You cannot name a single friend
To whom your lone heart warms.
When years have passed and you are old,
People will turn and say:
«He lived a century, poor soul,
Who never lived a day.»
Или Журавли. Я бы его и выбрала, если честно
THE CRANES
(Translation of Rasul Gamzatov’s 1976 poem)
It seems to me sometimes that soldiers fallen,
Whom bloody battlefields have rendered dead,
Were buried not in soil to be forgotten,
But turned into white cranes in flight instead.
From that time, since their fate became a coffin
They’ve soared, and issued us a strident cry.
Is that not why we sadly, and so often,
Lift up our silent gaze when cranes go by?
Today, as evening yields to nightfall’s border,
I see the cranes in flight, their wings unfurled,
As over fields they fly in perfect order
Just as they marched, when people in the world
They fly—their line extending to forever—
And call out names of someone to the cold.
Is that not why the song of cranes has never
Been far from Avar speech since times of old?
The weary wedge of birds on expedition—
It flies and flies through fog, towards the dawn,
And in the ranks I notice a position--
An empty space for me, for when I’m gone!
Some day in that formation I’ll be flying;
I’ll sail into the skies on my rebirth,
And from the heav’ns with crane trump I’ll be crying
To those of you I left upon the earth