По небу полуночи ангел летел,
крылышками бяк-бяк,
золотокудр и пустотел,
не по делам, а так.

Летел навестить родные места,
откуда в жизни иной
он и еще человек полста
отправились за войной.

Война их манила, обожжена,
крыльями бах-ба-бах,
а где-то там молодая жена
осталася на бобах,

сидит и молча пряжу сучит,
детка агу-агу,
в окошко ее почтальон стучит,
валенки все в снегу.

Мокрый след высыхает в сенях,
из крана – все кап да кап,
на карточке – ихняя вся семья
и нараспашку шкап.

Долго жена молодая шла,
колокол бом да бом,
мужа искала, да не нашла
и воротилась в дом.

А на крылечке стоит сынок –
стрижен – под ноль, под ноль:
ты извини меня, мама, но
мне пора за войной.

По небу клоками летят облака,
ангелы, вам чего?
Летите отсюдова прочь, пока
спят бойцы ПВО.
 
* * *
 
An angel was crossing the sky of midnight
His tiny wings went putt-putt.
Golden curled, swift and featherlight,
No business to think about.

He was coming to visit his native land
Which, in his life before,
He left, along with some fifty men,
And went to fight in a war.

The war captivated them, ba-da-boom,
Spreading its wings of fire.
High and dry, alone in her room,
His wife was staying behind.

She sits and knits, keeping silent when
Her baby goes goo-goo-oh.
The postman raps on a window pane
Standing knee-deep in snow.

On the floor, wet traces dry up, dry up.
Water drips from the tap, drip-drip.
In the pictures, they smile, hold hands, and hug.
Her bags are packed for the trip.

The young woman was traveling far and wide.
A bell was tolling, ding-dong.
She searched for her husband but could not find,
And finally came back home.

Lo, on the doorstep she meets her son,
His hair cut short, cut short.
Forgive me, mother, but just the same
I’m off to fight in a war.

Clots of clouds drift in the heavens.
Angels, begone! Shoo, shoo!
Or else our boys in the air defense
Are getting ready to shoot.
 

Перевел на английский Андрей Бураго