There are three sacred men’s songs, so far, In them their joy and woe ever settled. The first is brighter than the others are – A mother sings it sitting by a cradle. The second song is too the mothers’ one: While gently touching cheeks as white as snow, They sing it o’er a coffin of a son… And the third song – all songs, except these both. Translated by Yevgeny Bonver, June, 2001