Oh, Moscow, Moscow! I love you, as a son, As the russian man - so strongly, ardently and gently!
I love your grey hair's sacred shine
And love this cogged and placid Kremlin.
Thus vainly thought the alien sovereign,
That he can try to measure power
With you, the hundred-year giant,
To overthrow you. His striking
Failed to attain the desired goal:
You winced one time -he falled on ground!
And quiet was all universe...
You are the only heir of the glory -
The stately, living and imposing!
Moscow, Moscow, by Lyudmila Purgina
