Taste sorrel plain schey

Me in a bowl of sorrel soup is a favorite pour,
It's a house, summer, childhood, and mom gratefully looking,
How I happily eat, plunged into the forgotten comfort,
And caring dad reached for the sour cream in the cellar.

Right in the heart penetrated the flavor of the cake out of the oven:
It's with rhubarb, mom's, special: tenderly-sweet!
Heart, hot, you wait, no part, no knock,
I'll freeze for a moment, about happiness leaving tab.

Deja vu is everywhere: the creak and the familiar order of things,
It had happened once, or maybe always and forever:
Our parental home, the taste Savelevich simple soup,
As a gift of fate, as the wisest memory in the soul of man!

Disclaimer: I just found these in my library. I do not have the rights to them,
I just them and decided to share them with you.