I forgot the weather of childhood,Warm wind, soft snow.On the ground, perhaps to srestaurant my childhood there. There are so nemnogo poor my memory —Blue the road the red sun of childhood days, the Smell of berries and wood sorrel,aromatic Juniper Kustavi hospital,the Drying of colors. It’s all I wear with Sabawi like in any country.This heart will calm,If bitter it will be me.