Note From Kherson
When I'm dead, bury me
In the middle of the school yard, Wkona No. 4,
next to the bomb crater
so that I see the proud faces of my teachers
when they return;
and let me hear the students roar the national anthem.
From Kherson to the blue sea and to
Ukraine's steppe, I have joined the big family
that grants me the right to kill the
invading enemy huddled in its armored convoys to hell.
When I'm dead, don't forget to grant me the eulogy:
embraced death with open arms, embraced liberty,
a nice, sweet word.
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