Как много тех, с кем можно лечь в п

Как много тех, с кем можно лечь в постель,
Как мало тех, с кем хочется проснуться,
И утром расставаясь улыбнуться,
И помахать рукой и улыбнуться,
И целый день волнуясь ждать вестей.
Как много тех, с кем можно просто жить,
Пить кофе утром, говорить и спорить,
С кем можно ездить отдыхать на море,
И как положено, и в радости и в горе,
Быть рядом, но при этом не любить.
Как мало тех, с кем хочется мечтать,
Смотреть, как облака роятся в небе,
Писать слова любви на первом снеге,
И думать лишь об этом человеке,
И счастья большего не знать и не желать.
Как мало тех, с кем можно помолчать,
Кто понимает с полуслова, с полувзгляда,
Кому не жалко год за годом отдавать,
И за кого ты, сможешь, как награду,
Любую боль, любую казнь принять.
Вот так и вьется эта канитель,
Легко встречаются, без боли расстаются,
Все почему? Все потому, что много тех,
С кем можно лечь в постель,
И мало тех, с кем хочется проснуться.
Мы мечемся, работа, быт, дела,
Кто хочет слышать, все же должен слушать,
А на бегу увидишь лишь тела,
Остановитесь, что бы видеть душу.
Мы выбираем сердцем, по уму,
Боимся на улыбку улыбнуться,
Но душу открываем лишь тому,
С которым и захочется проснуться.
Как много тех, с кем можно говорить,
Как мало тех, с кем трепетно молчанье,
Когда надежды тоненькая нить,
Меж нами, как простое пониманье.
Как много тех, с кем можно горевать,
Вопросами подогревать сомненья,
Как мало тех, с кем можно узнавать,
Себя, как своей жизни отраженье.
Как много тех, с кем лучше бы молчать,
Кому не проболтаться бы в печали,
Как мало тех, кому мы доверять
Могли бы то, что от себя скрывали.
С кем силы мы душевные найдем,
Кому душой и сердцем слепо верим,
Кого мы непременно позовем,
Когда беда откроет наши двери.
Как много их, с кем можно не мудря,
С кем мы печаль и радость пригубили,
Наверно только им благодаря,
Мы этот мир изменчивый любили.
Эдуард Асадов

Результаты (английский) 1:

How many of those with whom you can go to bed,How few are those who want to wake up,And in the morning leaving smileAnd wave his hand and smile,And a worrying wait for news.How many of those with whom you live,Drink coffee in the morning, talk and argue,With whom you can go relax on the sea,And as expected, and in joy and in sorrow,Be near, but not love.How few are those who want to dream,Watch as the clouds in the sky, the swarmWrite the word love on the first snow,And to think only about this person,And happiness more not to know and not to desire.How few are those who keep quiet,Who understands perfectly, with a glance,Who do not mind year after year to giveAnd who are you, can you, as a reward, Any pain, any penalty to take.And so it goes, the GIMP,Easy to meet, without the pain part,All why? That's because a lot of those Who can I go to bed,And few are those who want to wake up.We mečemsâ, work, life, business,Who wants to hear, still must playWhile on the run will see only the bodyStay, that would see the soul.We choose the heart to the mind,Afraid to smile smileBut the soul open onlyWith that and want to wake up.How many of those with whom one can speak,How little those kind molčan′e,When the thin thread of hope,Between us, as a simple beautiful moments.How many of those who grieve,The warm up doubts,As a few of those with whom you can learnAs his life reflection.How many of those with whom better to remain silentWho would spill the beans not in sadness,As a few of those we trustCould that concealed from myself.With whom we find spiritual strengthWho are the heart and soul of the blindly believeWe will also invite,When trouble is to open our doors.Like a lot of them with whom you can not mudrea,Who we prigubili joy, sorrow andProbably only thanksWe are the world-changing love.Eduard Asadov

Результаты (английский) 2:

How many of those with whom you can go to bed,
how little those who want to wake up
in the morning and parting smile,
and waved and smiled,
And the whole day worrying about waiting for news.
How many of those with whom you can just live,
drink coffee in the morning, talking and arguing,
Who do I go to rest at sea,
and as expected, in joy and in sorrow,
be near, but not love.
How little those who want to dream, to
look like clouds in the sky swarming ,
write the word love on the first snow,
and think only about the man,
and happiness no longer know and do not wish to.
How few of those with whom you can be silent,
who understands perfectly, poluvzglyada,
who do not mind giving year after year,
and whom you can, as a reward,
any pain, any penalty to take.
That's how this rigmarole winds,
easy to meet, break up without pain,
why? That's because many of those
Who do I go to bed,
and a few of those with whom you want to wake up.
We rush, work, life, business,
Who wants to hear, still have to listen,
And on the run you will see only the body,
Stay, that would see the soul.
We choose the heart, the mind,
are afraid to smile smile,
But the soul open only to those
with whom want to wake up.
How many of those with whom you can talk,
how little those who reverently silent,
when all hope is slim thread
Between us, as a simple understanding.
How many of those with whom you can grieve,
heated Questions of doubt,
how few of those with whom you can learn,
myself, as a reflection of his life.
How many of those with whom it would be better to remain silent,
Who does not spill the beans would be in sorrow,
how little those whom we trust
Could that hide from yourself.
Who mental strength we shall find
the heart and soul To blindly believe,
whom we'll call without fail,
when the trouble will open our doors.
How many of them, with whom you can not wiser,
With whom we sip sadness and joy,
they probably just due,
we loved this world choppy.
Edward Assad

Результаты (английский) 3:

How much those with whom you can lie in bed,
how little those with whom you don't want wake up,
and indeed this morning smile,
and city listings by hand and smile,
and a day without worrying about running out to wait for promised.
how much those with whom you can simply live,
Drink coffee this morning, to speak and argue,
with whom you can relax on the sea coast,
and, as has been made, and, in joy and in sorrow,
be next to, but this is not love.
how little those with whom you don't want dream,
watch as clouds in the sky you discover,