Эклеа, ага, спасибо.
It'll all come to be, you know!
The southern wind will yet blow,
and the spring will its magic grow
and turn memory's pages anew,
and bring you to me, and me to you,
and at sunrise your lips
yet will wake me.
It'll all come to be, you see!
Roads run through forests and sands,
Airplanes leave for faraway lands,
Ships raise anchors and cross the ocean.
People wouldn't have cried so much,
if with wonder they kept in touch
and simply remembered the notion.
Happiness - what is it? A bird:
so
is easy to miss, hard to catch.
Yet it will not come on a word
nor live caged under a latch.
So I won't lock it up, nor I
will cripple the wings in vain.
Flying away?
Only fly...
The merrier meet
again!
UPD опечатку исправил