SHE:
When I'm eighty-five,
When I start to lose slippers,
In the broth to soften the bread slices,
Knit Scarves too long,
Walk, holding the walls and cabinets,
And for a long time gazing at the sky,
When all the women,
What I now given,
Istrate and will not care -
Sleep, wake up, wake up or not.
From the form on the century
I will draw your image carefully,
And hardly noticeable lips smile.

OH:
When I'm eighty-five,
The house will look for your slippers,
Grumble that hard for me to bend
Wear some ridiculous scarves
Of those that bound me to you.
And in the morning, waking up before dawn,
Let's listen to the breath you think
Suddenly a smile and quietly hug.
When I'm eighty-five,
With you I'll blow the dust,
Your gray curls correct,
And hand in hand on the little park for a walk.
And we are not afraid to die,
When it will be eighty five ... Quote