Светлана Копылова - Птица белая
текст песни

In the village of Russian ANEMNASEVA
Life proceeded slowly.
Her sisters and brothers nursed
Matryosha is a bright soul.

The girl is seven -year -old
Did not stand out in the middle of the children:
Perhaps a little more friendly
Perhaps a little kinder.

The family interrupted in poverty,
Father drank vodka all the time,
And in this terrible hopelessness
Nobody loved Matryosh.

When she was ill with a challenge
Because of what she lost her eyes,
Mother did not even pray to the Lord
And did not give her medicine.

So, becoming blind, with humility
Matryosh learned to live again ...
It will breathe, it happened, with regret,
That, they say, it is impossible now, without vision,
As before, catch butterflies ...

Three years later, one evening,
Matryosha nursed her sister,
She rushed rashly
Inadvertently slipping out of the hands.

In fright, the girl choked,
From the porch of the high falling,
Matryosha jumped after fear,
In the arms to the mother.

She attacked her like a beast, -
The evil heart blinded, - -
And she began to beat, not knowing mercy,
Blind daughter for all the faults,
Until it was exhausted.

Undergoing bodily pain,
She only begged: “Stope!
You are my heavenly Queen!
Let me die or strengthen! "

And suddenly the virgin appeared clean
To the call of the suffering soul:
Live, bright, radiant -
From the inaccessible peaks.

She watched with such a pity
That it was not almost painful,
Although the mother beat with wild rage
Matryosh ... Lord, I'm sorry!

The next morning (the morning was gray)
Matryosha could not get up
And from that time to the hour of mortal
I was riveted to the Odra.

At first, relatives did not believe her
And they reproached what was lying
But strengthened her in humility
God himself, leading to another life.

And found comfort
In prayer, a mournful soul:
Her akathic singing
Only a short dream broke.

Having received injuries from the mother,
Matryosha no longer grew up
And forever remained small,
Such as at ten years old.

Years went ... The procession was long ...
And now comes to her somehow
Peasant, sawing man by profession,
Overcoming back pain:

- I completely became worthless to work,
Touch your back, suddenly it will pass
I suppose you are pleasing to the Lord
Look, you're lying for a year!

She touched the pale pen -
And immediately it became good
And since then with all the troubles
The people went to Matryoshka




She, blind and wretched,
Was a guide of the blind
Leading a saving road
Desperate and sick.

But there were people low there,
From the Bolshevik link,
Denunciation - and here in the prison Butyrskaya
Matryoshka is concluded.

But also in prison
She prayed to the day-day:
Akathic singing rushed,
Picked up by the whole prison.

And the investigator whose mother
She managed to heal
Helped to free Matronushka
And put in the house of the ridiculous.

And there, exhausted, poor,
The Lord called Matryosh:
Her soul is like a white bird,
She shot up, under the sky.

Nobody knows where it is buried
(Letters have not been preserved),
But the connection is not stopped by death,
She hears us in prayers.

Having boldness to God,
Matryosha prays for people:
About our needs, about patience,
About granting children ...

St. Procroko Artemia Verkolsky
Nothing foreshadowed the rain:
The well -fed bumblebees buzzed ...
Father and son from the temple of God
They went home with a wheat field ...

Artemy - that was the name of the lad -
The thirteenth year has gone,
Mother called him "gold":
Such an obedient was a son.

And he is a chaste soul
I tried to please God
I took on a difficult work
And secretly imagined the monk to be.

But here is a thunderstorm with the hand of imperious
I stuck a sword into a heavenly shield,
And in front of the father of the unfortunate
He was a laundry of lightning killed.

In the village of Verkola of the Torular Service
They decided not to serve on it,
And since the Lord punished him so much
Then do not bury in the ground.

This was perceived by parents
With the seal of sorrow on the chela:
Artemy, their humble child,
Can't be devoted to the Earth ...

But there is nothing to do, and branches