How many of those with whom you can go to bed,
How few of those with whom you want to wake up ...
And in the morning, parting to smile,
And waving his hand and smiling,
And the whole day, worrying, waiting for news.
How many of those with whom you can just live,
Drink coffee in the morning, talk and argue ...
With whom you can go to rest on the sea,
And, as it should be, in joy and in sorrow
To be there ... But not to love ...
How few of those with whom you want to dream!
Watch as clouds swarm in the sky,
Write the words of love on the first snow,
And think only about this man ...
And the happiness of more is not to know and not to desire.
How few of those with whom you can remain silent,
Who understands with a half-word, with half-glance,
Who does not mind giving away year after year,
And for whom you can, as a reward,
Any pain, any penalty to take ...
That's how it's twisted -
Easily meet, without pain part ...
All because there are many people with whom you can go to bed.
All because there are not enough people with whom you want to wake up.
How many of those with whom you can go to bed ...
How few of those with whom you want to wake up ...
And life plaits us, as if it's a rotten ...
Shifting, as if in divination on a saucer.
We rush about: - work ... life ... business ...
Who wants to hear, still have to listen ...
And on the run, you only notice the body ...
Stop ... to see the soul.
We choose the heart - in the mind ...
Sometimes we are afraid to smile,
But we open the soul only to that,
With whom and want to wake up ..
How many of those with whom you can talk.
How few those with whom there is a quivering silence.
When the hope is a thin thread
Between us, as a simple understanding.
How many of those with whom you can grieve,
Questions to fuel doubts.
How few of those with whom you can find out
Yourself, how our life is reflected.
How many of those with whom it would be better to remain silent,
Who does not talk in sorrow.
How few people we trust
Could have something that they have hidden from themselves.
With whom we will find strength,
We blindly believe the soul and heart.
Whom we will certainly call,
When trouble opens our doors.
How few of them, with whom you can - not wise.
With whom we sorrow and joy sipped.
Perhaps it is only thanks to them
We have loved this world