Oh, how I long to go back, oh, how I long to burst into the little town, onto our street of three houses, where everything is plain and familiar, for just a day

Oh, how I long to go back,
Oh, how I long to burst into the little town,
Onto our street of three houses,
Where everything is plain and familiar, for just a day.
Where people walk in on you without asking,
Where there is no envy and no spite, a dear house,
Where birthdays are kept
And where the departed are seen off for ever by the whole courtyard.
Time, time swirls the snows,
And the neighbours have scattered, each to a different place.
And when the houses were being pulled down,
You and I, my friend, joked, it was no trouble.
Once a year a meagre letter,
Greetings for Christmas and many long years,
Exactly eight quiet lines
And some other handwriting, that is all, goodbye.

Literal translation

Verses by Kirill Krastoshevsky
Photo by Robert Doisneau